


All The Wrong Choices

by stratumgermanitivum



Series: Choices [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal's questionable parenting skills, Kid Fic, More tags to be added, Season 2 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-07-12 07:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15990344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: Will Graham has been locked up in the BSHCI, betrayed by the man he loved and determined to bring the truth to light. Meanwhile, Hannibal is dealing with his daughter's increasing frustration with his decisions, while trying to bring Will back into his life. And everyone else is starting to wonder exactly what kind of relationship Will Graham had with Hannibal Lecter.(Or: The Season 2 AU where Hannibal tries to balance raising a child with serial killing, and Will tries to balance revenge with feelings.)





	1. Chapter 1

_She knows now, that she should have done something sooner. Should have said something, should have stepped in and stopped this. All those chances to change things, and she had stood back and watched._

_This was as much her fault as it was his. She had let this happen._

_Standing in the kitchen, shoes sliding in the slickness of the blood, she looks up at him, and he tells her it’s time to go._

_And once again, she listens. Because she could have stopped this, but she didn’t. And she does not have the courage to do it now._

_\-----  
_ The first night without Will, Hannibal tucked Michelle into his own bed. Had anyone been around to ask, he might have told them it was to comfort her, to keep her from nightmares. Hannibal has always been an accomplished liar, but he rarely lied to himself. He tucked Michelle into bed with him so that he could reach out and keep hold of the tattered remains of his family, so that he did not feel quite so lonely. He had been alone most of his life, but rarely had he been _lonely_ , not since he was young and his family’s demise was still fresh.

Now, he was lonely. Now, the walls echoed with Will’s after-image. The bed still smelled of him, of his curls and his skin. Once, Hannibal woke in the night and, in his sleep-addled state, reached to pull him close. He obtained a handful of stuffed animal instead.

Hannibal refused to lose sleep over his actions. He had made the best decisions he could, given the circumstances, decisions that would keep him out of prison and Michelle out of foster care. That Will and Abigail were casualties was unfortunate, but unavoidable. Abigail had flipped her own hourglass when she’d dug up Nicholas Boyle’s body. She had been running on borrowed time ever since. Hannibal had merely urged her into place a bit sooner.

Will, on the other hand… Will was a loss. A temporary loss, but a loss none the less. He had looked into Hannibal, had seen him, but he had not yet been ready for what he found. And now he would most certainly be upset with Hannibal, betrayed, even. It would be a long time before he was ready to return to Hannibal’s arms, and Hannibal was not looking forward to the series of events that would eventually bring him home.

Hannibal refused to lose sleep over things he had already done, things he could not change, but he was losing sleep over the things yet to come. Will was an unknown variable, at all times, unpredictable, chaotic. Hannibal had to set several things into motion at once, to achieve the most favorable outcome. If he was careful, and if Will was not as reckless as he was typically prone to being, Will’s encephalitis could prove a favorable excuse. It would be the long way through; Will would still likely be committed, albeit temporarily. A temporary psychiatric commitment could still take years, however, and while a jailbreak was possible, Hannibal was not yet ready to give up the life he led in Baltimore. Hannibal would work on that plan anyway, but he was not going to pin all his hopes on it.

The ideal would be to frame someone else. It was a shame he’d already killed Sutcliffe, the man was dirty enough to have made the job simple. Hannibal had a few candidates in mind, but this would take more care, more finesse. He would need to avoid alibis, and cherry-pick someone with exactly the right skill set. It would take time, time Hannibal did not want to give. Sending Will to Chilton’s care was not a decision Hannibal made lightly, and he wanted him home. For once in his life, Hannibal lacked patience.

There was a third option, a back up plan. An emergency stop. Hannibal still had all the pieces he needed for the copy-cat killer to strike again. But only if he wanted to leave everything up in the air again. And Will would be angry, spiteful. Determined. No, better to have someone else ready to take the fall before letting Will back into the game.

Hannibal spent two nights plotting, drifting in and out of wakefulness, mentally scripting the paths people would take, which choices would lead to which outcomes.

On the third night without Will, Michelle refused to come to bed. Hannibal found her in her own room, hair a mess from where she’d ripped out Hannibal’s careful braids, spreading damp patches across her pillowcases.

“I don’t want you,” She told him. Hannibal was not willing to admit his loneliness to himself, let alone to a second-grader, so he nodded.

“Alright, if you’re sure.” Hannibal reached for the brush on her dresser, but when he crossed the room to tuck her in, she shook her head.

“I don’t _want_ you,” She repeated, yanking her blankets up to cover her shoulders. She dropped backwards against her pillows, glaring at him. Hannibal stilled.

“You’re still angry.”

“Yup,” Michelle said, popping the ‘p’ sound in the unpleasantly childish way she’d learned from her classmates. Hannibal had thought her broken of that habit.

Sighing, Hannibal settled himself onto the edge of her bed. She frowned and scooted back until she was all the way on the other side, out of his reach. “This is childish, Michelle.”

“I’m a child,” She pointed out. This was true, but she was normally a well-behaved one. Michelle had occasional bursts of misbehavior, as any child would, but they tended to be brief explosions, little experiences that Hannibal could temper and redirect as needed. This was calculated, purposeful misbehavior, done out of spite. Michelle’s mood had been understandably sour since Will’s arrest, but they had discussed it already, and Hannibal had thought she understood.

“Do you think that Will will be appreciative of your attitude when he returns?”

“Will’s not here.”

‘ _To defend himself’_ went unspoken, but Hannibal could read it in the firm set of Michelle’s jaw. Hannibal frowned at her. “He’ll be home before you know it.”

“That’s a stupid expression, I know it _now._ ” Hannibal could find no fault in that argument, which was not the same as approving of it. He tugged at the blankets until he could get his hands under Michelle’s armpits, hoisting her up into his lap.

“You are getting much to big for this.”

“I am _not!_ ” Michelle protested, clearly determined to disagree with everything Hannibal said tonight.

“You are,” Hannibal told her with a small smile, “But I don’t mind.”

Despite herself, despite her tense posture and angry face, Michelle tucked her head under his chin and snuggled close. Hannibal ran a hand down her back until she relaxed into him, and tried not to think about how his time to coddle her like this was running short.

“I want him to come home,” Michelle whispered against the knot of Hannibal’s tie. “He was here, all the time. He was gonna stay here while he was sick. And now he’s not _anywhere_ , and I don’t like it. And you won’t take me to see him.”

“It would be ill-advised.”

“That’s grown-up speak for ‘no.’”

“Yes,” Hannibal confirmed, running his hand through her hair, carefully twining through the knots she’d managed to stir up. “It would never be allowed, and it would draw attention to us.”

“Other people wouldn’t like it if you let me,” Michelle summarized, “They’d think it was bad.”

“Exactly.”

Michelle pushed away to look at him, her face scrunched up in frustration and confusion. “But _why_?”

Hannibal loved this about her, her complete refusal to line up with the way other people thought, with the expectations society would place on her. It was a common trait in children, but Hannibal hoped she never outgrew it. “Because people are foolish,” He told her, shifting her in his lap so he could twine her hair back into its braids, “Because they fear what they don’t understand, and they will not understand Will.”

“But we will,” Michelle said, some of her confidence slipping back into place, “I’m not afraid of Will.”

“Nor am I. We will understand him, and he will understand us, and eventually things will be better. I promised you, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Michelle tilted her head back to look at him, hesitancy written over her features. “You always keep your promises.”

“I do. May I tuck you in, now?”

“Okay.”

\-----

When he was being processed, Will had told Jack about Hannibal. Or tried to, at least. The words had stuck in his throat, sour and sharp enough to cut his mouth on the way out. That Hannibal could frame him, could hurt Abigail, could be a _murderer_ , it went against everything Will knew about him. But now, Will was realizing he knew absolutely nothing about Hannibal Lecter. Nothing true. Nothing _real_.

They weren’t going to find anything. Will knew that as surely as he knew his own innocence. Hannibal’s crime scenes were too tidy, too meticulous. Any evidence they found would only lead them straight back to Will. But Will told Jack anyway, if only to get him to look at Will with anything other than that horrified, pitying expression. Will would take fear, would suffer through Jack thinking he was losing his mind. He couldn’t stomach the pity.

Hannibal had been his first visitor, and he had brought pity with him. Pity and shame and a mockery of guilt, though Will knew he would call it guilt over failure, not guilt over anything he’d done. Hannibal had stood beyond the bars and reached for Will, and Will had placed himself just out of arm’s length. There was something almost painfully hilarious in that, in the fact that now that Hannibal had successfully trapped him, Will was able to free himself from his grasp. He was locked away, sealed up tight, but finally free from Hannibal’s pervasive influence.

That anger carried him all the way through the first night and the better part of the second day, through ‘conversations’ with Chilton, which Will skillfully ignored, and through meals that tasted bland and threatened to come back up when Will realized what he was comparing them to. It lasted him right up until exhaustion finally claimed him, sliding him into sleep, still sitting propped up against the wall of his cell.

His dreams were a haze of blood and memory, damp and slick between his fingers, shifting and sliding in and out of reach. Abigail, looking up at him with a mouthful of red. Hannibal, holding on to him and whispering in his ear that he would be okay, that Hannibal would make it okay, would make it better. Hannibal’s knife across his throat and Will’s across Abigail’s.

Will woke in the night, quietly sobbing and achingly alone.

\-----  
They were pretending to be normal again. Michelle hated it. Without Will and Abigail to pick her up, she spent a lot of time at latchkey, which was boring, but she also got to tag along with Tėtis everywhere, which was better. And Miss Bedelia came for dinner.

Miss Bedelia was a psychiatrist, just like Tėtis. She was _T_ _ė_ _tis’s_ psychiatrist, actually. Tėtis said sometimes everyone needed a little bit of help. Usually, Tėtis went to her home for his sessions, but there was no longer anyone to babysit Michelle, so now she came to their house instead.

Miss Bedelia had come to their house all the time, when Michelle was new. She and Michelle would sit in the family room, and sometimes Miss Bedelia would watch her play dolls and ask her questions about them. The first psychiatrist Tėtis took her to, the one Michelle didn’t like and only had to see twice, had wanted the dolls to be Mommy and Daddy and Michelle and Baby Asher. Miss Bedelia let Michelle call the dolls whatever she liked, and have whatever adventures Michelle wanted them to. She would play too, helping Michelle make up stories. Michelle thought Miss Bedelia must be very good at being sneaky, because she knew how to make the stories about Mommy and Daddy without them _actually_ being about Mommy and Daddy. So Miss Bedelia got to know whatever it was she wanted to know about Before, and Michelle didn’t have to straight out tell things she didn’t want to tell. Everybody won.

One day, when she was all grown up, Michelle wanted to be as sneaky as Miss Bedelia. And as pretty. Miss Bedelia had soft, pretty waves in her hair, and she wore pretty shoes, and she always smelled like something good, something sweet and not too fake. Sometimes, Miss Bedelia and Tėtis would look at each other all funny like grown ups did, and before Will, Michelle thought, _maybe._ But there was no Before Will, anymore, and Miss Bedelia was not here for Michelle.

Miss Bedelia was not here for dinner, either, although they did that anyway. Tėtis liked to feed people. He liked the performance, and he liked to watch people eat. So of course they had dinner, first, and then Tėtis sent Michelle to her room to play, while he and Miss Bedelia shut themselves in the family room.

Miss Bedelia was a psychiatrist, and that meant she was a doctor, and Michelle knew about Important Doctor Things like HIPPA and Patient Confidentiality. But if Tėtis _really_ didn’t want Michelle to know what they were talking about, he wouldn’t be talking about it in their home, or he would have at least waited until Michelle went to bed, like he did when Will stayed to talk. Or he would have told Michelle, in private, that she was not to be listening. If he didn’t do any of those things, it stood to reason that he expected Michelle to practice.

Miss Bedelia was Good. She was not a threat, so Michelle didn’t bring a knife. Slowly, carefully, and most importantly _quietly_ , Michelle crept along the hall with a big glass of water. She tilted it over on one of the bottom steps, letting the water spill down to the floor, and then propped the glass on it’s side on the steps. Then she propped herself outside the family room with a handful of paper towels and listened.

It was very difficult to hear. Miss Bedelia had a soft, murmuring voice. She spoke at exactly the volume she needed to, and no louder. Half of what she said drifted past Michelle in a faint buzz, but Michelle heard the important stuff.

“ _-obsessed_ with Will Graham,” Miss Bedelia said in her whisper-voice.

“Will Graham is my friend,” Tėtis told her, and Michelle was almost affronted until he continued, “He is my family. My...”

“You are not in love with Will Graham,” Miss Bedelia said, and Michelle was suddenly flooded with a wave of _hatred_ for Miss Bedelia, where there had never been any before. “You are _fascinated_ by him,” Miss Bedelia continued, “You are intrigued by him, and you are allowing him to manipulate you.”

“Will is incarcerated. He is alone, and he is lonely. It is only natural that he want a visit.”

“But to want a visit from _you_? When he claims it is you who put him where he is? There is something in Will Graham that you relate to, that you admire, Hannibal, but his intent to manipulate you is clear.”

“There is more to Will than manipulation.”

“And if you go, you betray your intent to manipulate _him_ , for whatever-” Miss Bedelia went quiet, and this was the hard part about eavesdropping. There were no faces to compare to her flashcards. All the little tics that translated to emotion, things that already baffled Michelle but were at least _something,_ were gone. Michelle had no idea what Miss Bedelia saw in Tėtis’s face, but Miss Bedelia, thankfully, kept speaking.

“You did not mention you were… _close_ with Will Graham.

“You did not ask.”

“It’s been a while since you had an affair, Hannibal.

“Will is not an affair.”

“You have never been prone to more than that.”

There was something in what they were saying that was beyond Michelle, something Grown Up. Miss Bedelia’s voice curled oddly around Will’s name, unpleasant and stinging. Michelle didn’t like it, didn’t want to hear any more of it. She mopped up the spilled water and hurried back to her room.

\-----  
_Abigail stands beside him in the stream, water rushing about her knees._

“ _Are you still mad at me?” She asks, with bright, hopeful eyes._

“ _I couldn’t stay mad at you,” Will promises, “You did what you had to do to survive. I just wish you’d told me sooner. Maybe I could have...” He trails off, staring out at his line as it twists against the current._

“ _No,” Abigail says softly, thoughtfully. “No, you couldn’t have.”_

“ _I guess not,” Will replies, choking on the bitterness of it all, “I guess he was always going to do exactly what he wanted.”_

“ _But what was it he wanted?”_

“ _He wanted to play with us,” Will spits, still so mad, still shaking with the rage that floods him, “And he got **exactly** what he wanted.”_

_Abigail looks at him. She glances back towards the shore, where Michelle bounds among the dogs, fly-away hair in tangles around her face, dark eyes bright with joy. Will thinks he would have brought her here, when she was older. When she grew into the patience children lacked, he and Abigail both could teach her._

_Abigail’s fingers trail over her lure, over the sharp point. She looks back at Will, wide-eyed and questioning. “Did he, though?” She asks._

_Will turns his back to her and waits for the fish to bite._

_\-----  
_ Will had asked for it, had all but demanded it, actually. And yet, he was unprepared for the sharp stab of hurt that jolted through him when Hannibal came to stand beyond the bars of Will’s cell.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal said, like he had the first time. And, just like the first time, Will responded:

“Dr. Lecter.”

There was a distance to them both, now. Hannibal was not playing the role of the grieving spouse, not this time, and his walls were back in place. He was a good actor; He looked as though he was absolutely distraught to see Will here, and was merely doing an excellent job of hiding it. It would fool anyone with a surface knowledge of Hannibal.

Will had more than a surface knowledge of Hannibal, and so, when Hannibal flinched at Will’s use of his last name, Will was not deceived.

“Will,” Hannibal said, stressing the syllables of Will’s name, “When you were committed, Dr. Chilton assured me you would be allowed to receive phone calls. I have called you every night, and you have refused me.”

“I wanted to see you face to face,” Will told him, and he would have relished the look of longing on Hannibal’s face, had it been real.

“We would have appreciated the call,” Hannibal insisted, and Will knew the use of ‘we’ was not accidental. It was perfectly sharpened, aimed towards Will’s heart.

“Chilton monitors my phone calls,” Will said, instead of saying any of the violent things that had welled up in his chest, “I’m sure he’s not the only one who would disapprove of me reading bedtime stories through the phone.” And he didn’t want Chilton listening to her. He wanted nothing of his time in here to touch Michelle. He would keep her in his stream, separate and safe from the feathered stags that stalked the halls.

“You do not have to go through this alone, Will.”

Will laughed, bitter and sharp. “I was already alone.” This time, the flinch doesn’t look quite so faked. It unsettles Will, that even now Hannibal can make Will think he has _feelings_ , that everything isn’t just some game to him. Every move carefully calculated to make Will think Hannibal is human.

“If you felt alone, if I was not providing you enough comfort, you could have told me, Will.”

“I didn’t feel alone _then.”_ The words tumbled free, lost to the air before Will could choke them back. He was disgusted with himself for falling for it, for offering Hannibal anything resembling _comfort_. “It’s only now that I look back...” Will shook his head, laughing. “I was alone, but I’ll never be alone again. I used to hear my thoughts as if I was speaking them out loud, my own cadence and timbre. Now all I hear is _you_. I can’t get you out of my head.”

“Sometimes, in a relationship, one may begin to feel as if they are no longer a separate-”

“Is that what you think we had,” Will interrupted, just to relish the flash of irritation that stole across Hannibal’s face, “A relationship? A relationship requires equality, _Doctor_ , it requires communication.”

“Will,” Hannibal said softly, “I have never been with anyone the way I have been with you.”

“No.” Will snapped, striding forward towards the bars, “No, you don’t get to do that, not now. No more conversations with double meanings I don’t get.”

“All of our conversations were only ever about opening your eyes to the truth of who you are.”

“I know who I am, “Will said in a whisper, close enough now to drop his voice and perhaps avoid Chilton’s microphones, if Will was lucky (Will was never lucky), “And I know who _you_ are. I don’t remember what you did to me, Hannibal, but it’s here, in my head, and I will _find it_. And when I remember, there will be a _reckoning_.”

“I have nothing but faith in you, Will.” Hannibal said, and there was another double meaning there, Will could feel it lurking beyond the walls Hannibal propped up. Another expression, another mock-up of heartache that Will wanted to claw off of Hannibal’s face with his own bare hands. Will turned his back on him.

\-----  
“Practice,” Tėtis told her when they pulled up to the police tape, “Listen, observe, but do not disobey.” Small and unassuming, that was Michelle. “Will I be allowed to come look?”

“Not at all,” Tėtis told her, “They will be very displeased that I’ve brought you. But I will trade you information later, when we are alone.”

“Quid pro quo,” Michelle chirped, and earned Tėtis’s special, pleased smile.

Mr. Crawford was there, without pretty Bella Bella Bella. Bella didn’t work for the FBI. Neither did Tėtis, technically, but that didn’t seem to stop him. Very little seemed to stop Tėtis.

“Dr. Lecter, thank you for joining us...” Mr. Crawford trailed off, looking at Michelle with his grumpy face. His face was always grumpy, but this one was _particularly_ grumpy. Michelle tucked herself out of sight behind Tėtis’s pant leg. “Dr. Lecter, this is hardly a place for children.”

“I’m afraid I’ve yet to find a regular sitter,” Tėtis informed him, “Especially on such short notice.”

“She can’t go back there, it’s...” Mr. Crawford trailed off, because grown-ups never seemed to want to talk about scary stuff in front of Michelle, even though she could take it. She’d seen scary stuff before.

“She won’t. She’ll stay on the other side of the tape, where I can see her.”

“Dr. Lecter, I know she’s a good kid, but-”

“Don’t worry about it, Jack.” A pretty, dark haired lady ducked under the yellow tape, tugging latex gloves off her hand. She knelt down, smiling at Michelle. “You’ve got Zeller and Price to explain things, you can spare me for fifteen minutes while Dr. Lecter takes a look.” To Tėtis, she added, “I’ve got little sisters. She’s safe with me.”

“I have the utmost faith in you, Miss Katz,” Tėtis told her. He and Mr. Crawford disappeared behind the police tape, and Miss Katz held out her hand for Michelle to shake, like Michelle was a _grown up_.

“Beverly Katz,” Miss Katz told her.

“Michelle Elizabeth Lecter,” Michelle said in her most grown up voice. It made Miss Beverly’s face crinkle up in a smile, and that made Michelle smile too.

“Well, Michelle Elizabeth Lecter. Ever see the inside of an ambulance?”

Miss Beverly reminded Michelle of Nina, but only in the good ways, not the ways that pinched inside and made Michelle feel sick. She held Michelle’s hand really tight, keeping her close as they went over to on of the ambulances. Michelle knew from Tėtis that they always called ambulances to scenes like this, but she guessed they didn’t really need them if everyone was dead.

Miss Beverly was distracting. She showed Michelle all the little nooks and crannies inside the ambulance, and let her touch anything that wasn’t sharp. But Michelle got to observe anyway. There were people everywhere. The ambulance driver was a man with a dark tan all over, except for a thin little sliver on his left hand. That meant he _was_ married, but he wasn’t anymore, and Michelle filed that away to trade with Tėtis later. She also filed away the names of Miss Beverly’s little sisters, and how many individual cops were walking back and forth just beyond the police tape, and that Miss Beverly missed Will almost as much as Michelle did.

That one took a little more work to figure out.

“Are there bodies?” Michelle asked, stalling Miss Beverly where she was demonstrating an oxygen mask.

“Yeah,” Miss Beverly said after a moment, “Yeah, kiddo, we found some bodies.”

“Did you get to look at them?”

Miss Beverly sat down next to Michelle on the stretcher, staring out at the police tape with her. “I did,” she said slowly, “That’s my job. I look at bodies and try to figure out what put them there.”

“That used to be Will’s job,” Michelle said, swinging her feet.

“Close. Will and I had different parts of the same job. We were… We were a team.”

“When Will comes back, I’m gonna have him teach me how to look at bodies so I can be like him when I grow up.” This was the real test. Michelle was not stupid. She knew what people thought Will did, and she knew what most grown ups would say to that. Miss Beverly was not like most grown ups. She didn’t tell Michelle that Will was never coming back, like her teacher had said, not even in that soft voice grown ups used to say bad things in nice ways. Instead, she settled her hand on Michelle’s shoulder and nodded.

“I think that would be a really good job,” Miss Beverly said, and Michelle smiled up at her. When Will came back, she would tell him that Miss Beverly was Good.

\-----  
At home, Michelle repeated back everything she’d observed to Tėtis. In return, he laid out three pictures for her.

Michelle had seen dead bodies before, but these ones were weird. They almost didn’t look like people at all, slightly off from their preparation and their time in the water, discolored and cracked. It made it easier to look at them.

“What do you see?” Tėtis asked. This was not part of the game. She didn’t have to look if she didn’t want to. Tėtis had traded her these pictures because she’d asked for them, because she wanted to know what Tėtis and Will did.

“They’re all wrong,” Michelle told him, “The colors and the lines. All cracked up like when you step on something plastic.”

“Their time in the water discolored their features and eroded some of the preservative,” Tėtis explained, “What else do you see?”

Michelle frowned and turned the pictures back and forth. “Somebody poked holes in ‘em,” She said finally.”

“They did. What about patterns, similarities?”

Michelle looked and looked and looked, until her eyes went all blurry and she felt tired from the seeing. “They don’t have any. They’re all different.”

Tėtis smiled at her, a real smile, and traded her a plate of pie for the pictures.

\-----  
When Alana came to visit, she looked at Will like he was something breakable. Something fragile. She had never looked at him like that before, even standing in his living room, looking like she wanted to kiss Will and _didn’t_ want to kiss Will, all at the same time. She looked at Will like he was unstable, yes, but not _breakable._ But now, he guessed, he was already broken.

She’d promised to try and help him recover the memories that had sunk beneath the surface of his mind, but Will couldn’t relax into it. He couldn’t trust her, couldn’t latch on to an affection that had once been there. He’d pushed that aside in favor of Hannibal. Hannibal had taken everything Will had, and somehow, he had kept it.

The session was useless, but later, in bed, Will sank beneath the weight of his own aching. He sat at Hannibal’s table, and the stag watched him from across the room as Hannibal grew horns and fangs and reached out to sink his claws into Will.

And alongside them both, Michelle ate quietly from her plate, until every bite was gone and all that remained was the ear.

When Will woke, this time he vomited, heaving up every bite of dinner he’d managed to stomach.

Hannibal was going to ruin her. Perhaps he already had. Michelle trusted him implicitly, followed him with an adoring little smile and clung to Hannibal as if he could keep her safe. As if he could protect her from the monsters when he was a monster himself. If he told Michelle to follow in his footsteps, she would.

Hannibal had destroyed Will, reached into him and twisted him inside out. Will would not let him destroy Michelle, too.

\-----

Fredrick Chilton was a jealous, vain little man, and he was bad with children. He’d managed to upset Michelle within five minutes of being in the house, patting her once on the head like she was some sort of dog and then ignoring her entirely. She was unpleasant enough that Hannibal set her up at her crafts table for dinner, safe in the family room away from the temptation to lose her temper, something that had been happening with increasing frequency.

“No observations tonight,” Hannibal warned her, kissing her forehead gently.

“But he saw Will!” She protested, as Hannibal had known she would.

“I promise to share with you everything you wish to know about Will. But stay away from the dining room. Am I understood, Michelle?”

Michelle was well-practiced in seeking loopholes, but she would not do it with him. She nodded her agreement, although she did turn her cheek when he attempted to bestow another kiss. Hannibal let her do it. Forcing affection on her when she was already angry would only make her feel more frustrated and out of control, and it would detract from the attention he needed to bestow on Fredrick.

“Alana Bloom came to visit,” Fredrick told him, after the meal had begun and they’d both been plied with wine. “She was attempting to help Will dig up buried memories.”

“And was he successful?” Hannibal already knew the answer. If he had been, it would have proved nothing, but at the very least Jack would have been by with questions.

“Only in playing Dr. Bloom. He’s got the good doctor wrapped around his little finger. I wonder what it is with him and psychiatrists?” Fredrick looked up at Hannibal, calculating. It was not a look Hannibal enjoyed being on the receiving end of, and he felt a moment of sympathy for poor Will.

“Are you implying something, Fredrick?”

“You’re all he ever talks about. Not to me, obviously,” Fredrick added with a bitter glare down at his plate, “God forbid he talk to the psychiatrist actually _assigned_ to his case. But to anyone else who will listen. He thinks you’re a monster.”

“Will is currently under a lot of stress. It’s only natural that he seeks to assign blame, to control some aspect of reality as he perceives it.”

“He is _obsessed_ with you,” Fredrick insisted, “Hannibal Hannibal _Hannibal_. He looks so betrayed. It’s a remarkably good bit of acting.”

“If you have something to ask me, I’d much prefer you do so.”

“Were you sleeping with Will Graham?” The question came sharp and quick. No doubt, Fredrick had expected it to shock Hannibal, to catch him off guard. Perhaps it might have, had Hannibal been anyone else, and had Fredrick not been the type of person to telegraph his every thought so clearly.

“If you were hoping to catch me in an ethical violation, Fredrick, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.” After all, Will had never officially been his patient.

Fredrick stared him down. Hannibal knew what his suspicions were, but to give him what he wanted offered Hannibal neither advantage nor disadvantage. Rather, it would have made Fredrick smugly pleased at his own guess, and Hannibal did not have the patience for that tonight.

“The truth comes for us all, Dr. Lecter,” Fredrick finally said, “We can only run from it for so long.”

\-----  
Alana had visited Will out of pity. Beverly had visited him out of desperation. Will wasn’t entirely sure what Jack had hoped to achieve from his visit. Absolution, perhaps, but Will was fresh out.

Alone again with his thoughts, Will laid back on his cot and stared at the ceiling. If Hannibal’s intent had been to isolate Will here, he had been unsuccessful. There was no one in his corner, not yet, but Beverly would look. And eventually, if she was careful, Beverly would _see_.

Jack didn’t believe him, not yet. He saw Will as damaged, perhaps broken by Jack’s own hand. Alana saw Will as something to be fixed. But Will saw himself with perfect clarity, now. No more encephalitis to cloud the mind. No more distractions in the form of false families.

_(And if he missed it, if he dreamed of it…_

_If, in the stream of his mind, he braided Michelle’s hair and told her stories…_

_If he talked to Abigail about trips they would never take…_

_If he dreamed, in the night, of big hands on his skin, of heat around him and over him and feeling, for the first time, like he was desired, like he was loved…_

_Well, nobody saw any of that, but him.)_

_\-----_

“You know what?” Shannon asked. She and Michelle were nearly the same size, even though Michelle was a little older, and so they almost always got paired up at Michelle’s Judo lessons. It had been fun at first, when they were sort-of friends, but now it was just upsetting. And Nina wasn’t even there to make faces at her over Shannon’s shoulder. Tėtis took Michelle instead, and that meant she couldn’t even go to every class, because Tėtis was so busy. Everything good about Judo had been ruined, and Shannon never seemed to _shut up_.

“What?” Michelle asked, looking away in favor of watching the instructor demonstrate. She never liked eye contact to begin with, and it always made Shannon angry when she felt ignored. Michelle was in the kind of mood where making Shannon angry seemed like fun.

“I heard Mommy and Daddy talking about how your dad’s crazy boyfriend went to jail.”

“He didn’t go to _jail_ ,” Michelle said, because he didn’t. Tėtis said he was in a State Hospital, and that was not the same thing, even if Will wasn’t allowed to leave.

“Did too! Daddy said so.” Shannon’s hand swung out and smacked at Michelle’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Michelle thought of Tėtis and how calmly he spoke to people who made his face all tense. She channeled him when she answered. “I’m aware.” In the corner of her eye, Shannon stomped her foot. Michelle did that too, sometimes, when she was upset, but right now she could pretend she didn’t and let herself feel superior.

“You should look at people when they’re talking to you! Daddy says!”

“I don’t really care what your Daddy says.”

“Just because _your_ Daddy’s crazy. His boyfriend’s crazy and he’s crazy, and you’re crazy too. They’re gonna take you away and lock you up.”

The rage bubbled beneath Michelle’s skin. She didn’t know what to do with it all. She’d never been an angry person before, not like this, always losing herself to her emotions. She couldn’t seem to keep it straight anymore. She turned to Shannon, on the teacher’s signal, a signal Shannon had not been paying attention to. In a quick, well-practiced motion, Michelle hauled Shannon around her side to throw her to the ground.

The shocked gasp that ripped itself free of Shannon’s chest was reward enough, but Michelle had been taught by her Tėtis and her Nina how to use every weapon at her disposal. She leaned forward and made herself look Shannon dead in the eyes.

“Your Daddy has a girlfriend,” Michelle whispered, because Shannon’s Mommy was always loud on the phone, and Michelle was a much better observer than Shannon was, “Your daddy got bored and met a new lady, and your mommy is gonna file for divorce, and it’s _all your fault_.” And then, before Shannon could say anything, Michelle let her bad ankle give way and ‘accidentally’ fell into Shannon, elbow first, driving all of her weight into Shannon’s stomach.

Shannon’s shriek didn’t make Michelle feel _good_ , but she wasn’t going to say anything else about Will, and that was what really mattered.

And if Tėtis told her later that it was beneath her, that she was better than that, better than Shannon, well…

Tėtis, Michelle was beginning to realize, was not right about _everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody and welcome to Chapter 1 of All The Wrong Choices!
> 
> First things first, I would be remiss if I didn't point out that the title was vaguely inspired by Lemony Snicket's 'All The Wrong Questions.' It was an accidental inspiration, and this fic and that series have absolutely nothing to do with each other, so don't worry about it.
> 
> So, we get our first glimpse of just how badly Hannibal has fucked up! Everyone is feeling pretty betrayed, right now. Including, bizarrely, _Hannibal_ , who has absolutely no right. 
> 
> This should go without saying, but Hannibal is doing some bad parenting. Please don't participate in Take Your Daughter To Work Day if your work is 'look at all the dead bodies I found!'
> 
> Last time around, I know a couple people were unsurprised but still sad by the ending. Somebody tagged their bookmark of Family of Choice with 'Bad Ending,' and even though I knew what they meant, I still cringed a little. I didn't want to spoil anything, but I also didn't want to mislead people into thinking I WASN'T going to end FoC where Season One ended, so I kind of just didn't say anything. This time, I'm starting ATWC out with a warning, but I'm making it as spoiler free as possible. This is your warning: The Choices series started out as me watching the show and going 'yes, but what if ALSO there was a child?' It was originally intended to be a series of drabbles, which I eventually broke free of. There were originally going to be NO changes to the original plot. That... Is not quite what is happening anymore. So, on the one hand, in the interest of honesty, this is a Season 2 AU. There WILL be a Season 3 AU, which means this fic might not end on the happiest of endings. On the other hand, we have already started to see some butterfly effect. People may get hurt who did not get hurt in the show, as Alana did in the end of FoC. People may survive who didn't in the show (At least one reader noted that, with Hannibal deciding to get Will help for his encephalitis, he never did get around to killing Georgia because Will never had time to form a friendship with her. You are all free to assume Georgia got the help she needed and was declared Not Guilty for Reasons at her trial). The events of Mizumono are not gonna go down the way they did in the show. And that is all I'm going to say because I hate spoiling, but I didn't want to lead anybody on.
> 
> Last time around we focused mainly on Hannibal's relationship with Will, and Will's relationship with Michelle/Abigail. This time around, we are getting a peak at exactly how Hannibal has been raising this child. We're also going to see that the kids are NOT alright. But you'll have to wait a bit before we read more of that!
> 
> Lastly (God I hope it's lastly, I hope I'm not forgetting things in my rush to get things posted before work,) This fic now has art! My best friend has helpfully provided a picture of Michelle, which can be seen [here](http://stratumgermanitivum.tumblr.com/post/178082284519/thanks-to-my-best-friend-for-drawing-up-an) and in Chapter 2 of FoC!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene people requested (but I've been planning it since the beginning, honestly).  
> Warnings for violent nightmare imagery.

Michelle was having night terrors again. They’d always come on and off, but as the years went on, they’d slowly become rarer.

Now they came nearly every night. Hannibal had been forced to pick up a package of overnight pull-ups, something they hadn’t kept in the house since Michelle was six years old. The package had been greeted with an explosive tantrum, kicking and screaming and reminding Hannibal over and over again how all of this was his fault.

“You ruined everything,” Michelle had told him, as he rocked her gently back and forth, trying to soothe her rage, “You ruined everything, _you_ wear them.”

Hannibal couldn’t give her that, but he could give her something else she wanted.

Michelle had grown more and more tense during the drive to the cliff-house, excitement and apprehension at war on her face. Abigail was far too well behaved to meet them outside, but Hannibal caught a flutter at one of the windows, and Michelle had no such patience. She bolted for the house the second she was free of the car, yanking and tugging at the locked door until Abigail managed to let them both in.

“You were gone forever!” Michelle whined, muffled from how she’d buried her face into Abigail’s stomach. Abigail returned the hug with equal ferocity, then tugged Michelle up into her arms. She wobbled slightly under Michelle’s weight, not quite as strong as Hannibal or Will.

“It’s just a couple of weeks, Shelly,” Abigail promised her, “Two weeks, that’s not long at all, is it?”

“It’s forever!” Michelle insisted, shaking her head. “And Tėtis kept saying ‘not now, not now,’ but he wouldn’t say _when_.” She tilted her head to give Hannibal a dirty look, as if his trickery hadn’t kept Abigail safe, as if he was not the one who’d given Abigail a place to live and then driven Michelle here himself.

But Hannibal can hardly expect logic from a frightened, stressed child, even one as typically brilliant as Michelle. If he is honest with himself, he would let her say a thousand more things against him just to put that smile on her face once more. Michelle beams up at Abigail as if Abigail is a goddess and not just a girl, the last traces of their family together at last.

Hannibal held up the bags they’d brought. “Lemon-basted salmon and asparagus?” He offered, leading the way to the kitchen. Abigail made an obscene noise behind him, causing Michelle to burst into giggles.

“I’ve missed your cooking,” Abigail said, setting Michelle down at the table while Hannibal laid out the meal, “Mine’s rough, and it’s not getting any better.”

“All things come in time,” Hannibal promised her, “We will work together, and you will be wonderful.” Trust had not yet returned to Abigail’s eyes, when she looked at him, but she still blossomed beautifully under instruction and praise. At the very least, she still smiled when she looked at him, which was more than he could say for the rest of their little family.

Later, after they had eaten and tidied everything away, they went outside to stand by the edge of the bluff.

“Not too close,” Abigail warned Michelle, who had always been fascinated by the sound of the waves. Michelle nodded her agreement and wandered off, throwing little stones over the edge.

“I changed the IV bag, like you showed me,” Abigail said. Hannibal noticed that she no longer waited for Michelle to be out of earshot before speaking, adjusting herself to their family dynamics. She had finally learned that Michelle would know exactly what she wanted to know, and nothing less, regardless of the efforts of the adults around her. Hannibal had raised her that way.

“Did she wake?”

“Not even for a second,” Abigail promised, “I thought she might. I know you said she wouldn’t, but I just… I couldn’t get it out of my head, until it was over.

“Occasionally, I adjust the cocktail,” Hannibal said, “If there are things I need to work on. For the most part, however, she’s been very steady.”

Abigail was quiet for a moment, watching Michelle skip her stones across the paved courtyard and into the sea. Hannibal could see the secrets welling up behind Abigail’s eyes, wary and cautious.

“Keeping things bottled up will only hurt you in the long run,” He told her. Abigail flinched, but then straightened up to her full height. She was prettier with this confidence. Fear and anxiety didn’t suit her, and Hannibal intended to train her out of them entirely.

“It was kind of creepy. Is it okay to say that it was creepy?”

“All feelings are valid,” Hannibal assured her, “And I would hope you would feel comfortable sharing yours with me.” When she still didn’t look at him, he added, “You have already earned my forgiveness, Abigail. You needn’t try so hard.”

Abigail looked at him then, eyes wide and damp. “What about _Will’s_ forgiveness?” There was the source of her worry, as expected. Hannibal took a chance and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. A few weeks ago, she might have resisted, but now she tucked herself up under his arm and let him comfort her.

“Will does not have it in him to be mad at you,” Hannibal promised, “And I have it on very good authority that he blames me for the entire incident.”

“Only because he thinks I’m dead. When he finds out I lied to him...”

Hannibal cupped her chin and guided her to look up. “Then he will be relieved to see you breathing, and, I’m certain, angry at me all over again.” He kissed Abigail’s forehead, like he did with Michelle before bed, and only released her when she began to smile.

“He might be angry at you for a while,” Abigail warned.

“It was the only way. Eventually, he will understand that.”

Abigail didn’t look as if she entirely believed him, but the anxiety that had tightened her features was gone. She was remarkably mature for seventeen, but she still held some of the shortsightedness of youth; so long as she was out of trouble, Hannibal could deal with his own problems.

“I would like you to come home with us,” Hannibal finally said, when the silence had become companionable once more.

“The FBI...”

“Are not going to find the basement,” Hannibal replied, “And should they, then we will have much bigger problems than whether or not they find you there.”

“I don’t want to be trapped,” Abigail whispered.

“You won’t be. Hide only as a last resort. I confess, I much prefer you untethered.”

“All of us,” She corrected with a small smile, “You like to see what we make of ourselves.”

“Very much so.”

They stared out at the sea together, serene silence but for the crashing of waves and Michelle’s occasional excited laughter. After a moment, Abigail leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, seeking approval and affection that Hannibal was happy to give to her.

“We should check on her, before we leave,” Abigail said, “Make sure I’ve got her set up right, since I won’t be here to change things tomorrow.”

“Can I come?” Michelle piped up, peering up at them with her hands full of stones. They both stared back at her, a heavy silence that meant something different for each of them. Michelle had never expressed interest in the basement before. On the contrary, she had been wary and mistrustful of even the door. Hannibal was not entirely sure she knew what was kept there, or even had suspicions beyond a hazy childhood imagination. She had never asked, and he had never told. He wouldn’t lie to her, but it was best to keep information to a minimum if she didn’t seek it out. There were already too many things she was expected to remember. She was accomplished at deception, but she was only eight.

Abigail found her voice first. “Absolutely not,” She said, glancing at Hannibal with a sudden spark of fear, as if she expected to be overruled. Hannibal had intended to say yes, but undermining Abigail in front of Michelle would only cause problems in the long run, and he had no burning desire to sate that curiosity yet, besides.

Michelle pouted, widening her eyes and fluttering in her lashes in a way that worked on teachers and strangers, but had never worked on Hannibal, or at least, rarely. He encouraged it anyway, as he encouraged any attempt at manipulation that was not too heavy handed, but not within their family. If it worked on Abigail, he would step in and redirect, and reconsider leaving them alone together until Abigail’s parental instincts were more finely honed.

Abigail, however, had not been lying or exaggerating when discussing her babysitting history. She put both hands on her hips and stared Michelle down until Michelle dropped both the pout and her stones, nudging them back into the dirt with her sneakers.

“Absolutely not,” Abigail repeated, “But you can help me pack while Tėtis goes. I have a treat for you in the kitchen.”

They went together, Michelle’s tiny hand in Abigail’s, and Hannibal watched them with something warm and tight in his chest. Fondness and melancholy, a twist of uncertainty. Things he was unused to feeling, things he didn’t entirely understand.

His certainty eroded like the sea eroded the cliff.

\-----  
_“_ _I felt so betrayed,”_ Will had said.

“ _I needed to trust you.”_

“ _I’m so confused._

“ _I need your help_.”

It was amazing, how easy it was to lie by telling the truth. The words had tumbled out of Will’s mouth with tears to season them, and they had been so, so easy. Maybe it was Hannibal, face to face with him, looking for all the world as if Will’s suffering was his own. The lines of the Hannibal he’d known and the real Hannibal overlapped and blurred, until Will saw them as one man. It made the crying come effortlessly.

Back in his cell, however, Will shut down, blocked out reality, and locked himself away.

\-----  
_“It’s yucky,”_ _Michelle tells him, snatching her hands back from the bait. They flap at her sides, not anxious, but excited. “Yucky and slimy and gross.”_

“ _I’ll do it,” Will tells her, threading the hook, “You just hold steady.”_

_She’s too little for fly-fishing. The river would come to her chest and overtake her. Will amends his fantasy to a lake from his childhood, the edge of the dock, and gives her a little girl’s rod, purple and sparkly. He’s seen them with cartoon characters at Wal-Mart, but he’s not entirely sure she watches TV. There are gaps in his image of her, he fills them with hopes and wraps his memories around them._

“ _Draw back now,” He says, and guides her through the motions. She casts further than she expects to, and the glee lights up her face._

_She is a wild-eyed child, excitable, but happy to be held. In his lake, Will imagines that patience extends to this, standing at the edge of the water and dangling her feet over the side, too small to disrupt the water and scare the fish. Will kneels beside her and guides her hand, watching the spark in her eyes as the rod jerks in her hand._

“ _I got something!” She shrieks. Will covers her little hand with his own and helps her reel it in, something small, something she could fish up herself, a tiny little trout on the end of her line._

“ _Can we show Tėtis?” She asks, because she would, even in his safe place, Will cannot pretend she wouldn’t._

_And Hannibal… And Hannibal would have packed a picnic, would have sat on the shore and sketched the two of them, and…_

_And he does not belong here, in Will’s safety, not anymore, but Will cannot make him **leave**._

“Were you sleeping with Dr. Lecter?” Chilton’s voice, emotionless and knife-sharp, shattered Will’s reverie. Will had forgotten him entirely, wading into fantasy from the very beginning of the session. They had sessions every day, sometimes more than once, if Chilton was feeling particularly ornery. There were only so many times Will was willing to consciously listen to inane questions. _How long have you experienced violent urges? Did your parents ever strike you? Tell me about your upbringing. How does that make you **feel?**_ Will felt hungry and bored, but that was rarely the desired response.

“Why, are you jealous?” They hadn’t hidden it, but they hadn’t gone out of their way to tell anyone, either. Will was pretty sure Michelle had told anyone who would listen, but he and Hannibal hadn’t actually gotten around to telling anyone, besides Alana. Even that had been borne more of necessity than a desire to have any sort of coming out party. Now, Will was hardly dying to shout from any rooftops, and if Chilton wanted information, he could pry it out piece by piece, until Will had made him regret the effort.

Chilton wanted to crack open Will’s skull and look inside, but only one man had ever managed that, and Will had no intention of repeating the experience. Still, when Will offered him any sort of response, he flinched, as if he thought Will could slice him open and devour his innards with words alone.

It almost tempted Will to participate in therapy more. Almost.

“It would be unethical for a psychiatrist to become sexually involved with a patient.”

“It would be,” Will agreed, and gave Chilton no more than that. It was certainly something he’d thought about, but Will’s insurance had no record of anything beyond the initial psych eval. Will had never paid a single dime for all those conversations they were having.

“Dr. Lecter could lose his license, if you were,” Chilton pointed out. “I’m surprised you don’t have an elaborate sexual assault story on top of all the blame you’ve assigned him.”

Chilton really was a _terrible_ psychiatrist. Will was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to try and lead patients into false accusations. No matter how inept your career rivals made you feel. “That would be lying, Dr. Chilton,” Will said with a small, shadowed smile. Chilton shifted ever-so-slightly in his seat.

“And of course, you have no interest in lying. No reason to want to see Dr. Lecter suffer. Not for things he didn’t do, according to you.”

Will let his smile grow, until it was Chilton avoiding _his_ eyes instead of the other way around. “I’ve only ever been interested in the truth, Dr. Chilton. Aren’t we all?”

\-----  
With Abigail there to soothe her whenever the whimpers began, Michelle slept through the night without a nightmare to wake her.

Hannibal had his first in years.

_He stands in the front yard of his childhood home, knee-deep in snow and shivering. Mischa’s body is sprawled across the drifts, the fresh warmth of her blood melting the snow. It was a sight Hannibal had never seen; his first glimpse of any part of Mischa’s corpse had been hunks of meat in a bowl. Yet now, the image paints itself vividly. She changes every time he forces himself to glance her way. One second, she is short-haired and bundled in blankets, as she had been in life the last time he saw her, and the next, Michelle’s long strands turn pink with blood that seeps into her school uniform. She had always been his daughter, even as their parents lived, and the knowledge claws at Hannibal’s chest._

_Will comes stumbling from the doorway, wide-eyed and trembling with fever. He’s barefoot. He should not be barefoot, not in this weather. Hannibal forgets the corpse as soon as he looks away, in the fleeting nature of dreams, stepping forward to urge Will back inside. There will be a fireplace indoors, warm clothing._

_Men with sharp teeth and sharper knives._

_Will stumbles into Hannibal’s arms with a ragged cry. He bleeds every place Hannibal touches, bleeds and shakes until there is nothing left for his body to give._

_Hannibal is in his kitchen, searing heart in a frying pan. He cooks it through, but when he sinks his teeth in, it is raw and beating._

_Hannibal wakes up, or at least he believes he does. Will is in bed beside him, right where he should be. Hannibal pulls him in, presses soft kisses to the nape of his neck. Will doesn’t stir, even though that typically makes him squirm. Hannibal runs his hand down the front of Will’s chest to feel his soft, steady breaths, and his hand travels down, down, to tangle in the intestines spilling from Will’s stomach. He can’t stop himself. He has a fistful of gut, and he pulls and pulls, foot by foot of soft, tender organ. Will stirs in his arms, slow as molasses, hindered by the drugs Hannibal has been plying him with for weeks. Hannibal has never drugged Will as a way to get him into his bed, but here Will is, held still but for the sobbing as Hannibal pulls every last organ out of his body. They’re both crying as Hannibal’s arms move on their own. From the doorway, Abigail watches, passive, and asks which part they’ll eat first._

“ _Please,” Will begs, “Please, Hannibal.” And then it is not English, but Lithuanian, and not Will’s voice, but a little girl’s. “Prašau, ‘Anniba, prašau, Tėtis.”_

Hannibal woke with the blood of his family on his lips and a twisting feeling he had not felt in years. In the aftermath of _Mischa_ , terror had come to him sharp and swift, nearly every time he closed his eyes. Hannibal-the-boy had been a frightened, violent thing. Hannibal-the-man had taken that violence and transformed it into reassurance, a protection from anything that might threaten or disarm him. Guilt had no place in his mind, it was a demon he had exorcised years ago.

And yet, when he closed his eyes, he could see Will, crying in a cage, begging for his help.

It was four AM. Hannibal made coffee and rifled through his business cards.

\-----

The patients had gone home, by the time Miss Bedelia came. Michelle had tucked herself away into the private entrance with her kindle, waiting for Tėtis to finish up his paperwork and take them home. She was reading ‘Ramona Quimby, Age 8’ for the third time, because now that she was 8, it seemed like something she should do. Besides, Ramona books were easy to get lost in, and lately, Michelle needed to get lost.

“Hi, Miss Bedelia!” She said, dropping her kindle to wave with both hands. Miss Bedelia smiled at her, like she always did, and tucked a stray hair away from Michelle’s face, but there was something wrong with the smile. She smiled with her lips, but not with her face, no dimples or teeth to be seen. Michelle knew that people smiled for reasons other than happiness, but she didn’t have the right information to make sense of that. Instead, she swung her feet from her chair and watched Miss Bedelia disappear into Tėtis’s office.

Tėtis’s office was not a place for observing. Eavesdropping was rude, but sometimes a necessity. Violating confidentiality, on the other hand, was a Big rudeness, the kind that could get Tėtis fired. Tėtis worked all by himself, but his explanation had a lot more words, and Michelle thought ‘fired’ was a much easier way to say it. She didn’t see the point in saying things in lots of words when you could just say them quick, except maybe if you were writing a book. Tėtis always talked like he was writing a book.

She was getting distracted. Michelle looked at the door and rubbed her hands together, palms moving in circles against each other. The sound was soft and soothing, a shush shush shush like the white-noise machine in her bedroom. She could focus again, with the sound humming softly in her ear.

The office was not for observations, because Patient Confidentiality, but Miss Bedelia was not a patient. Technically, Tėtis was a patient, but he would have told Michelle if he had a session today, and he’d said they were going home. He hadn’t said Miss Bedelia was coming. Maybe he hadn’t known.

Tėtis not knowing something. The thought sat uneasily in her stomach. When Tėtis didn’t know things, everything got all twisty and wrong. Tėtis didn’t know what Will would do, and so he’d had to make Will go away for a little, until things were better. Tėtis didn’t know Miss Bedelia was coming, and so maybe that was a bad thing, and Michelle should listen close so she could rescue him if he needed it.

But she didn’t have the knives here.

Michelle was just wondering if maybe her pencil sharpener could be pried apart, when Miss Bedelia’s voice came through, loud and clear.

“Then maybe you deserve each other.” The door to Tėtis’s office swung open. Miss Bedelia walked back out, hesitating in the doorway for a long moment, like she was waiting for something. She hadn’t been in long enough for a therapy session. The Wrong feeling twisted Michelle’s tummy a little harder.

“This isn’t the exit,” Michelle told her, “But I think it’s okay ‘cuz all the patients are all done for the day.”

Miss Bedelia stared at her. She stood for a long moment, and just looked, until Michelle squirmed. “Sorry?” She tried, because that usually worked for grownups, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to be sorry for.

Miss Bedelia crossed the hall in two quick strides of her pretty pretty heels. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Michelle’s hair. She had never done that before. “I’m sorry,” She whispered against Michelle’s hair, “Be good.” She was gone before Michelle could insist that she was (almost) always good.

Tėtis stood in the doorway, and he and Michelle looked at each other, both trying to pin down exactly what had just happened. If it made more sense to Tėtis, he wasn’t telling.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” It had all felt very… final. Everything felt final, lately. Michelle felt the world slipping through her fingers faster than she could grab on.

“No,” Tėtis said slowly, “I don’t believe she is.”

“Oh.” Michelle stared down at her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her uniform skirt. “Are you sad about it?”

Tėtis thought it over, tapping his fingertips against the door frame. “I believe I might be.”

Michelle rolled that thought through her mind as well, thinking over the options. “Would you like a hug?”

Tėtis looked from the doorway, back to Michelle, and then nodded slowly. “If you are willing to give one.

She was still mad at him. Sometimes, she thought she might always be mad at him. But he was _Tėtis_ , and she was Michelle, and no matter what happened, nothing would ever be more important than what they were together. She threw her arms open wide, and Tėtis pulled her up into a tight hug, and it was almost alright again.

Tėtis had always held them together, but things were falling apart faster than either of them could hold on. Maybe it was time for Michelle to fix things instead.

\-----  
Days after Dr. Du Maurier had left, Will was still turning her words over in his mind. They thumped through him like a heartbeat, a constant patter. Despite what he knew to be true, Will had, for a moment, started to believe he really was crazy. Perhaps everyone was right, and Hannibal was exactly what he seemed, while Will was the psychopath with the steadily melting brain. For one terrifying, heart-stopping moment, Will had started to believe the lies himself.

And then, there she was, angel in heels, _I believe you_.

It had been salvation and damnation all in one, because he had known even then that she was not going to tell anyone else. Save the mind, leave the body trapped.

She had been his last visitor, and he was not due another for several days, so when the doors buzzed open, he expected Chilton, or an orderly.

He did not expect tiny footsteps, slightly out of sync, as Michelle came into view.

There was a line visitors were not meant to cross, a line that had gotten Dr. Du Maurier escorted out, but when Michelle pressed herself flush against the bars, no one came to stop her.

“Will,” She pleaded, and Will was helpless, dropping to his knees and hugging her so tight that the bars dug into his cheekbones. Michelle folded into him like she’d never left, and when she pulled back, they both had damp faces.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Will forced himself to say. She crumpled like her strings had been cut, tears spilling over. “Shi- shoot. No, honey, that’s not what I meant, I’m so glad to see you.” He tugged at her wrist until she leaned close enough to kiss her forehead through the bars. She giggled, watery but pure.

“I missed you,” She whispered.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” Will promised, “Every single day. But Michelle, what are you doing here? How did you even get in here?” Happy as he was to see her, if Chilton’s policies allowed for 8-year-old visitors to have unsupervised visits to accused serial killers, Will was going to raise hell.

Unexpectedly, Michelle flushed. She avoided eye contact as a rule, but now she dropped her gaze all the way down to the where the floor dug into Will’s knees. “I didn’t go to my after-school program,” She said, and tried to leave it at that.

If asked, Will would deny having any sort of paternal instincts, but whatever he _did_ have reared it’s head now. He frowned, cupping her chin and tilting her head up to look at him. “Michelle,” He said sternly, “How did you get in here? Specifically, into this ward?”

Michelle fidgeted, eyes roaming over his face. “I took two cabs and gave a guy in the hallway two hundred dollars.”

“Two hundred- Where the hell did you get two hundred dollars?”

Guilt settled in over Michelle’s features, and she drew a familiar leather billfold from her pocket. Will sighed.

“You can’t steal from Tėtis just to come see me,” He said gently. “He trusts you to be a big girl.” Will tried not to think of what his life had come to, defending Hannibal or his parenting to a child. “We both do. You’re better than this.”

“You don’t answer when we call,” She said, folding her arms with a petulant frown. “You don’t talk to me.”

Will winced. He’d known that was going to come back to bite him, but at the time, he’d wanted to hurt Hannibal. And protect Michelle from the hospital, which was now pointless.

“Not because I don’t want to,” He promised, “But they listen to everything I say here. I didn’t want them to listen to you too.”

Michelle glared at the ceiling. Will was fairly certain she’d missed the cameras entirely, but the effort was appreciated.

“I don’t care if they listen to me,” She said, pressing forward so she could drop her voice down to a tiny whisper. “You should call us.”

“Michelle, Tėtis and I...” Here, Will paused. Honesty was tempting, but Michelle was so young, and she lived with Hannibal. Will had no way to rescue her, not just yet, and it was better not to drive a wedge between her and her sole support.

Michelle surprised him. She always did. “I know you’re mad at him,” She said, voice so low Will could barely hear it. Good. It meant Chilton would have less of her when he inevitably rewound the tapes.

“Do you?”

“I’m mad at him too.”

“Why’s that?” Will wasn’t sure how much she understood, how much she had seen. Did she know what Hannibal was? Or was he still a superhero to her?

Michelle shrugged. “He can fix it. He fixes everything.”

“I don’t think he’s going to fix this, sweetheart.”

“He will,” She promised earnestly, “You just have to be patient.”

Will didn’t bother to remind her it was all Hannibal’s fault to begin with. It had yet to do him any good. “Tėtis can’t fix everything, Michelle.”

“He can,” She insisted, “He can, and he’s going to. You’ll see.” She dropped her voice again, so quiet that Will had to bruise his face against the bars to hear her. “We’re sorry, Will.”

“You do not have _anything_ to apologize for,” Will told her, and the urgency he felt was so severe that he did not bother to whisper. He cupped her face in both hands, brushing hair out of her eyes with soft touches of his fingertips. She needed a haircut. Perhaps Hannibal had been too busy plotting to get her one. “Do you understand me, Michelle? Not a single damn thing. None of this is your fault.”

Michelle glanced away, gaze skittering across cracked ceilings and fluorescent lights. She didn’t believe him. Will could see it in her face.

“It’s going to be alright,” She promised again. The door slammed open before Will could argue.

“Michelle!” Hannibal had arrived, and while Will did not believe for a second that he hadn’t known where Michelle was from the minute she’d nabbed his credit cards, he still looked genuinely harried. Perhaps he had not expected her to take things quite so far. There were dark bags under Hannibal’s eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping.

 _Too many late-night snacks,_ Will thought bitterly.

“You have to go now,” He whispered to Michelle, as Hannibal hurried towards them, “Be good for me, okay? Be my brave girl.”

She clung to him when she was lifted, dragging Will to his feet, yanking his arm as far beyond the bars as it would go.

Hannibal looked well and truly caught, trapped between them. The look on his face might have been longing, on anyone else.

“We can’t stay,” Hannibal said, sounding apologetic. Sounding _honest_. “You understand why we can’t stay, right? I’m not taking her from you by choice.”

“I’m not a child,” Will snapped, harsher than he’d mean to. Michelle flinched and dropped his hand. She reached for it again, but Will pulled away, regret sinking into his stomach like a stone. “I know she’s not allowed to be here.”

He wanted her here, though. Every part of Will ached to keep Michelle right here, in his arms, which was exactly why he had to let her go. She did not belong here, in cold and damp shadows. She deserved better than Will. Better than both of them.

\-----

Tėtis had parked her on a chair outside of Dr. Chilton’s office. She could hear him arguing with Dr. Chilton inside, but she knew he wasn’t really mad at her. She could tell. They reflected each other too well. Michelle thought he might even be proud. She’d been very crafty, after all.

“Hey.”

The man who whispered to her was not the same man she had bribed. That man was probably gonna get fired, honestly. Michelle knew how these things worked. Bribes were bad, but they were less bad if you were the one giving them.

This man was tall tall tall. Michelle tilted her head all the way back to see him smile at her.

“If you can get away on Tuesdays,” He whispered, “I can turn off the cameras. It’ll be our little secret, okay?”

Tuesdays. Abigail wasn’t allowed to pick her up from school, too risky, and Tuesdays were not a day Tėtis could pick her up early. She could probably get out of her latchkey program, if she was careful. Tėtis would probably know, but he might look the other way, if it was for Will. She nodded slowly.

“Tuesdays,” She whispered back.

“Atta girl,” The man whispered, and offered her half of his snack cake.

She wasn’t supposed to take things from strangers, but this man was going to let her see Will. Besides, he worked in a _hospital_. Michelle took the snack cake and ate it in two huge bites. Tėtis would smell it on her, but she’d tell him she got it from the vending machine. He might even believe her, if she was smart about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People were worried Abigail was dead. Oh no. I have plans for Abigail. Just you wait.
> 
> On the subject of Miriam Lass: Canonically, Hannibal claims to have kept Miriam at the house on the cliff, despite living in Baltimore, something I referenced in Family of Choice. Miriam was apparently largely unconscious for the the two years she was missing, when she wasn't having her mind rewritten, and if I remember correctly, she said that even when her arm was removed the Ripper wasn't mistreating her? I might be misremembering that, but the implication is that she wasn't being starved or dehydrated. None of that makes any sense, because that's not how IVs or human bodies work. IVs only last a couple of hours, people who are not unconscious need to eat and drink regularly, and people who ARE unconscious need to be regularly rotated to prevent bedsores and atrophy, which Lass did not have. It makes no sense for Hannibal to successfully keep a captive somewhere he could not visit regularly (as in, daily). I just kind of threw up my hands and said 'fuck it. you can't do half this stuff in real life anyway. This man murder-teleports around the eastern states, I can make Miriam survive indefinitely in a basement if I want to.' (The correct answer is probably 'something Strats didn't pay proper attention to,' but I much prefer 'fuck it!' Maybe Hannibal only went on vacation to the cliff house with Miriam, I don't know.)
> 
> Alana knows that Will and Hannibal were together, because Will told her. Michelle's teacher and Judo instructors know because Will was added to pick up lists, and also because Michelle really did brag to everyone about her cool new dad. Jack and Team Sassy Science do not know, because no one bothered to tell them, and Chilton doesn't know, because Hannibal and Will enjoy leaving him out of the loop out of spite.
> 
> I like the idea of Hannibal not wanting to feel any guilt but losing to his subconscious. That being said, it's good that he feels regretful, but at the same time, he feels regretful because he sees a link between Will and his sister/daughter. That is, he sees Will as someone smaller/lesser in need of protecting, and not 'a grown ass man who is Hannibal's equal.' Baby steps. (Yes, Hannibal coped with his nightmares via murder. Because Hannibal.)
> 
> It's hard to get this across through Michelle's limited perspective, but Bedelia is apologizing because she is willingly leaving Michelle to Hannibal's care. She doesn't believe Michelle is in any physical danger, but she has her suspicions about how Hannibal plans to raise Michelle (These suspicions are entirely correct, but we'll get to that).
> 
> I wavered on whether or not Michelle should visit Will. On the one hand, people asked for it and it was a scene I knew I'd wanted from the beginning. And on the other hand, I'm not entirely sure '8-year-old girl sneaking off her private school campus to traverse Baltimore on her own' is entirely realistic. In the end, I did what I do best: I said 'fuck it!'
> 
> Thanks for joining me in my rambles, and if you made it this far, just one final question. I asked this over on my tumblr, but only one person responded:
> 
> As you all know, updates are a little slow right now. I alternate chapters of Choices with chapters of The Rules, I had a September prompt I had to get through (which is now posted), and I have a mystery project for October. That being said, I also know that the angst of these last few chapters has really gotten to people. So I'm putting it to a vote: Do we continue with this until we get through to the very last chapter, or do we take a minor detour down memory lane, and I'll post one or two short bits about when Michelle came to live with Hannibal and they were happy together? Before getting back to prison!Will. (If I post those bits, which will eventually happen regardless, they will be part of the Choices series but a separate story, so you will want to be subscribed to either the series or all my fics, not just ATWC.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Guys. I need you to trust me, okay?

The first time Michelle went to visit Will, she’d simply told the teacher in charge of the after school program that she was going to the bathroom, and then walked right off campus. That was probably not going to work a second time, so she had to get a bit more creative.

On Sunday, she did some research into her school’s website. After Abigail had tucked her in and gone to talk with Tėtis, Michelle had pulled out a flashlight and spent an hour carefully copying Tėtis’s signature from of one of his old sketchbooks until she had it right. On Monday, she handed her teacher a carefully filled out permission slip that would allow her to take the bus home from school. On Tuesday, Michelle rode the bus to the second stop, slipped off in a group of fifth graders, and hired a cab with money she’d pulled from one of the emergency stashes Tėtis kept around the house. She’d been careful to only take a little, and not to touch any of the credit cards or passports. It could be dangerous if she misplaced those.

It took two cabs to get to the hospital, and then she’d gotten stuck. Dr. Chilton knew who she was, and nobody else was going to let an elementary school student go wandering through the halls. She’d gotten lucky last time, but they’d be wary of her now.

In the end, Michelle crept in through a back door someone had propped open for a smoke break, and then made her way through the halls towards Will until the friendly orderly from before found her. It didn’t take long.

“I was watching for you,” He said when he pulled her into the right hallway, “You’re a lucky little thing. You almost ran straight into Dr. Chilton. He likes to antagonize his newest pet at around this time.”

“This is a silly place to keep a pet.” Michelle said. She clung tight to the man’s hand as he led her down the halls. They all looked the same, and she didn’t want to get lost.

The man laughed at her. He was always smiling, she’d noticed, small and secret, like he knew something. He thought she was funny, but she didn’t know why. Grown-ups were a frustrating mess of emotions, and they never liked to tell kids what they were thinking. The orderly was nice, but he was still a grown up.

“I can loop twenty minutes of footage,” He explained when they finally arrived, “And then we need to sneak you back out. How good are you at climbing through windows?”

Michelle looked up up up at the tall orderly, then down down down at her tiny frame and the Bad Foot. She bit her lip.

“Yeah, good point,” The orderly said.

“I didn’t… I didn’t say anything?”

The man patted her on the head and then nudged her towards the big metal door with a hand on her back. “Twenty minutes,” He reminded her, “Our little secret.” Michelle nodded, then turned back, handing him the cookie she’d saved from her lunch. He took a big huge bite of it, like a little kid, and grinned at her. Then he pushed her through the door, and it was just her and Will.

There were other big cages in this part of the hospital, but they’d been empty before and they were empty now. Michelle knew people thought Will was scary, but this was a bit silly.

“No,” Will said when he saw her, shaking his head.

“I didn’t _say_ anything,” Michelle said for the second time in five minutes, a hint of a whine creeping in despite her very best efforts to be grown up.

“No, as in, ‘not a chance’, as in, ‘turn around and go home, right now.’ God, how do you keep getting _in_ here?”

“I think they’re more worried about people getting out?” Michelle offered, even though she suspected Will had not really wanted an answer. Grown ups asked questions like that all the time, and they always seemed upset with her when she answered them.

Will laughed like she’d said something funny, then got to his knees and reached for her. “Come here, then. You made it this far. Not like we can get into any _more_ trouble.”

This was not true. Michelle had read up on prison. Will could get in lots and _lots_ more trouble.

She didn’t say any of the things she’d read, though, because Will’s arms were tight and warm around her, and then she was too busy crying to say anything at all.

It had been a lot, last time. Too much for her to really process, and then Tėtis had shown up and it had all crashed and burned really quickly, before Michelle could really feel much of anything. Now, she had _twenty whole minutes_ , and she wanted to spend all of them right here, being hugged by Will.

He didn’t smell right. Will was supposed to smell like… like… Well, she didn’t really know what it was. Tėtis said Will smelled like very bad aftershave, iron, ink, and dog. He said that it was actually not a bad smell, except for the aftershave. Michelle couldn’t have told you what scent came from what thing, it was all one big Will-smell. Sometimes she could make out traces, little bits of heat or sweat. There was a little bit of the sweat, now, but not much. Mostly, Will smelled like the hospital, all cold and wrong. She wanted the Will-smell. She wanted to crawl into bed between Will and Tėtis and never come back out again, pretend this had all been one big bad dream.

Michelle cried and cried and cried. Will tried to rock her like he did when he could hold her properly, but the bars were in the way. Instead, he made soft hushing noises and pet her hair, until her sobs went shaky, and then finally tapered off entirely.

“Me too, sweetheart,” Will said once she was quiet, “Me too.” And Michelle still hadn’t _said_ anything, but she thought she understood what he meant, anyway.

\-----  
Hannibal waited for Michelle around the block from the hospital, within sight of the bus stop. Her shoulders hunched when she saw the Bentley, and she shrank in on herself with every step, red-eyed and damp-faced. Hannibal took pity on her and carried her the last few feet, scooping her up with a tight hug and a kiss to the top of her head.

“This can’t happen again,” He said gently as he buckled her into her booster seat. She was old enough now to work the buckle herself, but lately he found he could not bear to part from her for long.

“I know,” She said once he’d settled himself back into the car. She looked out the window with distant, hollow eyes, shutting down. She’d been so vibrant before all of this. Hannibal…

Hannibal _regretted._

It was not an emotion he was used to. It was not something he’d ever bothered with before. Still, it lingered in his throat, tight and thick like tar. He pulled over on a side street, just a few minutes from where they’d set off, and turned in his seat to look at her.

Michelle’s eyes missed him by scant centimeters on a good day. Today, the distance was miles. He reached out for her hand, and she let him take it, but did not clutch back.

“I’m going to fix this,” He promised. Michelle’s eyes glazed over.

“You said.”

“And I meant it. I don’t keep you from him to hurt you, Michelle.”

“People are going to talk,” She said, ducking her head, “So I can’t go back.”

“Smart girl,” Hannibal praised. She didn’t smile like she usually did. Instead, her eyes finally locked on his, with a great deal of effort and no small amount of calculation. Hannibal took advantage of the effort to make his promise again. “I’m going to fix this. I’m going to bring him home.”

Michelle was a well of questions, as was any other child, but now she held only one. “Are you sorry?” She whispered, big brown eyes flicking away and then forced right back to his, a herculean effort for her, and one that left Hannibal breathless. It was not the question he’d expected.

“Yes,” He finally said, and his voice spilled from him in a cracked and ragged breath. The surprise on her face mimicked his own. “Yes, Michelle, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes welled up with tears. She flipped her hand in his to clutch at his fingers, grip tight. “Okay,” She mumbled, “Then I won’t go back. Because he’s coming home.”

“As soon as I can manage it.” Hannibal promised, and for the first time in weeks, his daughter looked like she trusted him again.

\-----

Michelle wasn’t allowed to go to the trial. Not for the first day, anyway.

“They’re going to show the evidence,” Tėtis explained, and he’d come all the way down to the floor to do it, which meant he was taking her seriously, at least. He understood why she was upset. He cupped her face in his hands, big and warm and finally feeling safe again. “It will be brutal. They will not allow a child in the room.”

“You’ll show me, though? Later?”

Tėtis shook his head. “You already know what they believe happened to Abigail. It is important that we not muddle that with too much information just yet.” He paused, then, and his hands tightened before dropping to settle on her shoulders. “They want to subpoena you. Do you know what that means?”

Michelle shook her head.

“It means that the lawyers would like you to come and tell the court what you remember about the night Abigail disappeared.”

Michelle looked over Tėtis’s shoulder, where Abigail was standing in the doorway. “I told them that, already,” She said, voice going high and strained. “We went to the police station, I talked to Dr. Bloom, I said I didn’t see anything!”

“The prosecution will want to ask you more questions. They will try and get you to describe things you may have heard, things that might not have come up in your testimony.”

“But I _did this_ already!”

“And you can do it again,” Abigail piped up, kneeling down next to Tėtis, “You know the story. You know what you’re supposed to say. We’ll practice today, you and me. Okay?”

“But what if I get it wrong?” Michelle jerked back, away from Tėtis’s hands, and the sandpaper of his skin. Her hands started to flap, shake shake shake. She paced, back and forth, left foot right foot left foot right foot, “What if I get it wrong and then Will can’t come home and-” She drew in a breath, let it out, but when she went to draw in the next it wouldn’t come. The air rattled in her throat and wouldn’t fill her lungs. She shook and shook and shook, and when Abigail reached for her she smacked her hands away. “Don’t touch me! I’m going to get it wrong, I’m going to mess up and Will won’t come home and it’ll be all my fault!” Flap flap flap her skin was crawling left foot right foot left foot right foot Michelle tap tap tapped the rhythm of her steps against the skin of her cheek until she could feel the residue of her own touch lingering like a bruise.

The blanket came over her shoulders without warning. Tėtis pinned her with the weighted fabric, wrapping her up in the soft cocoon and yanking her back against his chest. He rocked her and spoke her sonnets, soft Italian she barely understood but folded under anyway. Always the same, rhythmic and soothing, she could have recited them even without the meanings. He was in her ears and under her skin, all around her.

“They’ll take me away,” Michelle mumbled, “You said. I’ll get it wrong and they’ll take me away.”

Tėtis’s grip tightened, warm pressure that kept her from floating away down the stream.

“No one will _ever_ take you from me,” He promised, and she believed him. She closed her eyes and let him rock her until the exhaustion forced her under, into sleep.

\-----

Hannibal tucked Michelle into her bed, her face red from crying and bruising where she’d been too rough with herself. He placed his kiss there, right over the shadow, and left the night lights on even though the morning sun streamed through the windows.

“She’s right,” Abigail whispered when they were alone. “She might get it wrong. She’s so young.”

“She’s done it before,” Hannibal replied, “And her age will work to her advantage. She’s young, and looks younger. They will be willing to dismiss minor errors as confusion. Nobody will be expecting a little girl to get everything right. Nobody will be expecting her to remember much at all.”

“Then why bother asking?”

“It’s a cheap tactic. The record of her testimony would be evidence enough. The prosecution is hoping she’ll get upset and provoke an emotional response in the jury.”

“She’ll get upset, alright,” Abigail complained, “Did you really tell her they would take her away?”

“At the time, I had to.”

Abigail looked mistrustful. Hannibal could hardly blame her.

“She was five years old and had just murdered both her parents. I needed her to concentrate on getting the story right.”

Abigail froze, certain he must be lying. He could see the doubt in her face. But Hannibal had so far been honest with her, and he could see the weight of that knowledge settling uneasily on her face. “S-Self-defense?” She asked, hopeful. Hannibal was trying to ease her away from fear and into something fierce, but she still grew so cautious when Michelle was involved.

“Of a sort. Certainly, had they lived, they would have done worse to her.”

“They don’t lock up kindergartners. They’re not old enough to know any better.”

“Of course not. But they would have looked. They would have studied. They may have sent her to special homes and psychiatric wards.” This was, perhaps, an understatement. Left to fend for herself, and honest until told not to be, Hannibal knew exactly what sort of attention Michelle would have provoked. She would have aroused the same professional curiosity that had Fredrick Chilton preening over Will’s incarceration.

“So you terrified her to get what you wanted.”

No one had ever shamed Hannibal before, not successfully, but Abigail had managed to dig into a place where he was sensitive. “I didn’t know her then,” He allowed, “She was just a child I’d met ten minutes before. I would make different decisions now.”

Abigail eyed him critically, and then sighed. “No you wouldn’t,” She said, “Because then you wouldn’t have Michelle.”

\-----

Hannibal couldn’t bring Michelle to the trial, but he could bring her just about everywhere else. As far as anyone in his life knew, he was still having trouble finding her a regular sitter, something he had no plan to waste money on when Abigail was perfectly willing. As no one else knew Abigail was alive, it gave him the excuse he needed to let Michelle tag along wherever he went. She sat in a little folding chair in the hallway when he was in the lab, and when they pulled him out to a crime scene late at night, she tilted precariously to the side in her booster seat, covered in a blanket and supposedly sleeping, though the cracked window he’d left closed shed some doubt on that. Later, he sat at the table with her and Abigail and let them ask questions over dinner.

“Someone wants to help Will,” Abigail said thoughtfully.

“That’s good,” Michelle chimed in, “Isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal allowed, “Can you think of reasons it might not be?”

Abigail looked like she’d already thought of several, but Hannibal waited patiently for Michelle to catch up.

“They could do it wrong?” Michelle finally tried, “You said Will was really good at what he did. Abigail said it was almost like magic.”

Hannibal shot Abigail a disapproving look. She utterly failed to look chastened, which was theoretically a good thing, although it didn’t bode well for Hannibal’s control over his household.

“Will is an exceptionally talented specialist,” Hannibal explained.

“So he would know if they did it wrong. And so would other people if they were really good at their job. Like Miss Beverly.” Michelle nodded to herself and then thought some more. “Also, maybe they’ll get real mad if it doesn’t work.”

“And an angry person who’s willing to commit murder is a wild card,” Abigail added, when Michelle seemed to have reached her limit, “Especially if they find out Will didn’t do what they think he did. They might feel betrayed.”

“Would they hurt Will?” Michelle asked in a small voice. Hannibal shook his head.

“Will can defend himself. And he has us, doesn’t he?”

Abigail did not look particularly reassured, but Michelle brightened and nodded. “’sides-” At Hannibal’s expectant look, she hastily corrected herself- “ _Be_ sides, if they want to help Will, they probably like him.”

“A reasonable assumption to make. You’ve both done very well.”

Abigail, despite her skepticism, looked just as pleased as Michelle. He rewarded the both of them with raspberry tortes.

\-----

Hannibal grew antlers and fangs before Will’s very eyes. Black as pitch and sharp edged, he swore his honesty in lies Will could taste. But when he looked at Will, for once, Will could see something genuine there. Something longing.

_It’s no fun being so clever if I’m not there to appreciate it, is it?_

“Please describe your relationship with Will Graham.”

Intimate. Intense. Unbalanced. Hannibal said none of those things. He wove his answer like spider’s silk. Professional. Honesty without exposure.

“I was never officially his psychiatrist.”

“No, that would have been inappropriate, considering your affair.”

They’d known it would come up. Alana had looked surprisingly doe-eyed and meek. If she’d been harboring a crush, still, Will had thought it would have died off after the murder charges.

 _Do you have any supporters who_ don’t _want to sleep with you?_ His lawyer had asked. Apparently, Will did not, and so Hannibal had been called forth, as the more composed of the two. Lesser of two evils, the only situation where that could possibly be true. They’d hoped that Hannibal’s composure, his professionalism, would go a long way. He was less likely to burst into tears, certainly.

Or so Will had thought. It all went downhill from there. It had been a stupid idea anyway. Will had latched on to that little bit of hope, even though he’d known, he’d _known_ that there was no way this would work. Hannibal didn’t use guns. He worked with his _hands_. He did everything with a personal touch, right down to the way he twisted Will’s life to suit his needs.

But Will had _hoped_. His lawyer had latched on to any chance to ‘win.’ And Will had so much hope that it twisted into him and collapsed his lungs until each breath was a painful gasp.

And Hannibal.

 _Hannibal_.

“All previous testimony on the matter will be stricken from the record.”

Hannibal, on his way past Will, had _sorrow_ in his eyes.

Will closed his eyes and waded into the quiet of the stream.

\-----

Hannibal had known it wouldn’t work. Will should have known as well, had he been thinking more clearly. Hannibal chose to accept some of the blame for that; Desperation did funny things even to brilliant people.

Still, he felt a bit of resentment towards Will’s lawyer for going forward with the farce of a defense. Since punishing the lawyer was out of the question, Hannibal channeled some of that rage into the judge.

It was a boring kill. There was no challenge to gunfire, no effort. One moment the judge was alive, the next he was not. It colored the tableau. Sculpting his art would never cease to be entertaining, but there was something lacking when there was no one around to see it through their suffering.

Will would know, though. He would look and he would know what Hannibal had done for him, one day. The judge’s death would not tip the scales in Hannibal’s favor, but it would be one step towards the absolution Hannibal sought.

Will’s admirer would see it, as well. He’d look at the judge’s corpse and know his assumptions had been wrong. Hannibal doubted it would change anything; Will’s darkness hovered, unseen, just at the edges of his being. It lingered in his eyes and grew with Will’s frustration. No, Hannibal very much doubted the admirer would be able to look away. But hopefully, he would see the warning for what it was.

_He’s already spoken for._

_\-----_

“I didn’t tell you that I met your kid,” Beverly told Will, laying out photos. Will frowned.

“I don’t have children.”

“Really? Somebody should probably tell Michelle that. I don’t think she knows.”

Will shook his head and tried not to let loose the smile that tugged at his mouth. “Michelle loves everyone.”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t talk about everyone.”

“She talks about me?” Will couldn’t help the curiosity, the hunger. He knew she missed him, of course, but he ate up scraps of her life like a stray dog, feasting on crumbs like they were four-course meals.

“Every single time I see her.”

Will hesitated, brow furrowed. “How often do you-” It clicked, all at once, and he groaned. “He’s been bringing her to _crime scenes_?”

“And the lab. Don’t worry, he doesn’t take her past the doorway. And it was just the one crime scene. Two if you count the one she was asleep for.”

Will absolutely counted that one. Beverly caught his dirty look.

“She didn’t _see_ anything,” She told him softly, “I took her to play in an ambulance. She had a blast.”

What Michelle saw and what she was told were two different things, and Will no longer trusted Hannibal’s judgment. Still, none of that was Beverly’s fault. Will changed the subject.

“You didn’t bring her up before. You’d already seen her the last time you visited.”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what you had to say about her.”

“And now?”

Beverly frowned down at the photos, then glanced up at Will. “Last time Hannibal brought Michelle to the lab, she asked if I ever came to visit you. She said she thought you might be lonely. Whatever else I believe, I believe that she loves you. And I don’t think she’d do that without good reason. She’s a shy kid. She won’t even look at Zeller, he gets so offended.”

For a moment, Will forgot the handcuffs and reached out for her hand. They pulled him up short, and he awkwardly grabbed for one of the photos instead. Beverly didn’t look as though she believed the deception, but she was nice enough not to point it out.

“I wanted her to be mine,” He whispered, a moment of vulnerability. Beverly, at least, was unlikely to use that vulnerability to slice Will’s skull open. Instead, she looked pained.

“I think she still is,” She said, and it was the nicest thing anyone had said to Will since he’d been arrested. Beverly cleared her throat. “Will, the case. You were right. The killer was in the mural.”

Will looked down at the photos and let himself see.

\-----  
Will was plotting something. Hannibal was both irritated and pleased. He had to miss out on his appointment with Will, and he had to listen to Fredrick Chilton try and play mind games he was nowhere near smart enough to pull off, but Hannibal could hardly be upset with Will for any step towards his becoming. Even one so sharply obvious.

“Fredrick Chilton has become suspicious of me,” He mused to Abigail later. Both of his girls were ‘helping’ in the kitchen, Michelle by sitting on a stool at the island and mixing dessert batter with a vigor that left more batter on her than in the bowl, and Abigail by chopping vegetables into uneven and misshapen lumps. Hannibal corrected neither of them. It was rare to have a day where everyone seemed content, and he was hesitant to be the one to ruin it.

Not hesitant enough to keep Abigail in the dark, however. There was no point to teaching her anything at all if he kept silent where it mattered. Abigail’s fingers slipped on the knife; the next pepper slice was crushed beneath the flat of the blade.

“There’s no need to worry.” In retrospect, he perhaps should have led with that. But in a perfect world, Abigail would learn to properly control her emotional responses, and Hannibal was doing his best to create a perfect world.

“Suspicious of what, exactly?”

“He believes my treatment of Will may have tended towards the unorthodox.”

“And did it?”

Hannibal smiled down at her, a hint of teeth, a sharp vein of pride. Abigail didn’t roll her eyes, but he could see the desire written across her face. Baby steps. A desire for rudeness was not quite so distasteful as rudeness itself. “Any treatment proposed for Will was done with Will’s consent and for his own good.”

“But Will probably wasn’t in a state to be giving any sort of informed or _remembered_ consent.” It was not an accusation, merely a statement of fact. Abigail returned to her vegetables. “And Dr. Chilton would use that against you.”

“He would certainly try,” Hannibal agreed, “However, he’s tended towards the unorthodox himself. I believe right now he’s attempting to set himself up a very exclusive club.”

“He’s jealous,” Abigail summed up, “Professionally speaking, but probably personally too. People like you. They don’t like him.”

Hannibal let his smile widen a bit, amused. “No, they do not.”

“And Will went to therapy with you. Of a sort. Mostly willingly, depending on how informed you like your consent to be. Freddie Lounds told me any psychiatrist worth their salt would have wet themselves at the chance.”

“I imagine she was even cruder about it than you have just been,” Hannibal said with a raised eyebrow. Abigail flushed slightly and murmured an apology.

“It’s true though,” She continued, “You had a chance he could only dream of, and he’s jealous.”

“Yes, I think that’s a reasonable summation. He has that chance now, though. He has taken on exclusive care of Will. I believe Will has made him promises.”

Abigail’s knife slipped again, but she straightened out and continued to chop. “Will won’t keep those promises, even if he intends to at first. He’s private. Even with us. I think he wanted to open up to us, he was learning to, but he was still private.”

“And so we have nothing to fear from Fredrick Chilton. He has no end goal, no clear plan, no control over the playing pieces.”

“Don’t tell Will you called him that.”

“Never,” Hannibal promised.

Abigail scraped the vegetables into a bowl and turned to wash her knife. “Whatever may come,” She said, firm and certain, “We’ll handle it together.”

“That’s my girl.”

The smile she gave him was true, earnest and eager. Hannibal committed it to her room in his memory palace, and showed her how to season the vegetables.

\-----

It came to him in what passed for therapy with Chilton. But then, Will was getting used to the word ‘therapy’ being applied to all sorts of things.

It comes in flashes, the sharp pain of antlers prickling through his skin.

_The slow slide of a needle into his arms, the chill of the injection._

_The clock the clock was it always so twisted?_

_Hannibal’s hands in his hair, smoothing back sweat damp curls._

_Soft kisses to his brow._

_You did so well, Will, so well._

_Tick tock tick tock ask your questions doc._

Will was _enraged,_ fire and hatred and a new stripe of cruelty he’d never possessed before. Hannibal had taken his skull apart to dip his hands inside. Will wanted to do the same with his chest, wanted to take Hannibal’s most vital pieces in his hands and squeeze tight.

Beverly was the sole source of light in his life right now. He regretted that they hadn’t been closer before. Maybe she would have had a little more faith in him.

“Stay away from Hannibal Lecter,” He warned her, but he could see the stubborn set of her shoulders.

“Somehow, Will, I don’t think he’s going to start stabbing me while I’m sharing vending machine soda with his 8-year-old.”

Will thought about Michelle, about the way her hands had trembled when she held the gun, but never once had she seemed surprised or confused. Or scared, at least of Hannibal. Will suspected there was a lot Hannibal would do in front of Michelle. He no longer believed her birth father tripped and fell down the stairs.

“Don’t use her as your shield,” He hissed, “He’s had three years to train her. She’s a little girl. She’s going to trust her father. Do what he tells her. If he tells her to leave the room so the two of you can chat, if he tells her later that you had to leave suddenly, too quick to say goodbye…?”

He trailed off, purposeful. Beverly looked concerned, but also incensed. The desire to disbelieve mingling with the knowledge that he was right. Michelle was no guarantee, not with a killer as vicious as the Ripper.

Beverly changed the subject. “The Ripper keeps surgical trophies. If Hannibal’s the ripper, what’s he doing with the trophies?”

This, Will knew. He’d kept it to himself, kept it locked deep inside, tried not to think about it. Had vomited thinking about it anyway. “He’s. He’s eating them.”

Beverly frowned. “That’s a lot of meat for just one man.”

“He’s not just one man. He has dinner parties to host.” Will hesitated, swallowed around a thick wave of disgust, “A family to provide for...”

The nausea rolled over Beverly in a palpable wave. Will could see the exact moment she had to bite back her feelings, struggling to roll the professional mask back into place. “She’s a _baby_.”

“All the more reason to feed her _well_.” Will drawled, and watched Beverly’s stoicism shatter. She believed him. She didn’t know it, not yet. She still thought herself impartial. But she liked Michelle, was protective of children by nature. She believed him.

She _believed_ him.

\-----

In the end, it was sheer luck that let events unfold the way they did.

Michelle liked getting to tag along with Tėtis, she really did, but she wasn’t supposed to eavesdrop on patients. And if, on occasion, she did so anyway, they never actually said anything interesting. And so she maybe, possibly, had just the tiniest bit of a fit. More of a pout, really, hardly anything actually _naughty_ , and anyway, as far as Michelle was concerned, Tėtis owed her big time for all the stuff with Will (She may have said that. Out loud. To his face. Tėtis hadn’t looked all that amused, but Abigail had laughed, so maybe it was funny).

So it was coincidence, and not any real skill or effort, that meant Michelle was at home with Abigail when Tėtis called and said he would be home let after accompanying Miss Bella to the hospital, and it was coincidence that they were in the kitchen, and not upstairs, when someone began to fiddle with the lock on the front door.

They didn’t have a plan for this. Abigail and Tėtis had plans for if something went wrong, if Abigail was discovered or someone suspected Tėtis. They had secret stashes all over the house and in the secret house on the cliff. They did not have a plan for someone _breaking into the house_.

But Abigail was smart, and Michelle had learned from Tėtis. “The basement!” Michelle whispered, while Abigail hurried to hide their dinner in the trash can. Michelle quickly wiped crumbs and any other signs of their presence away from the table, and locked the pantry door behind them when they disappeared into it.

The basement was mostly soundproofed, but not entirely. Michelle could hear cautious footsteps as Abigail carefully eased the trap door shut. The door shut them out, but as Abigail carried her down the stairs, Michelle swore she could still hear them in the _thump thump thump_ of her own heart.

The basement was not a comfortable place. Michelle had never been further than the trap door, stuck at the top of the steps calling down for Tėtis. Knowing, in her heart, what was in the basement, but scared to see it for herself. Scared and curious and eager and unwanting.

Now, there was no time to take it in. It was dark, too dark. Abigail crouched against a wall and held Michelle in her lap, one hand pressed over Michelle’s mouth. It didn’t matter; Michelle couldn’t have made a sound.

Quiet. Quiet. Quiet. Stillness. Nothing but the light of Abigail’s phone as she sent a frantic text to Tėtis, the quick gasps of Abigail’s scared breaths.

And then. The smooth slide of the trap door. A beam of light. Abigail went stiff behind her and Michelle’s heart went _thump thump thump_.

The light slid over plastic and chains. A platform. Shelves. _Thump thump thump._ And then the two of them, too-bright in Michelle’s eyes. She covered her face with a hand until the beam went away and the lights clicked on.

Miss Beverly. For a moment, relief. Michelle trusted Miss Beverly. Liked her. And then, reality: Where they were. What Miss Beverly must know. What Michelle and Abigail would have to do. _Thump thump thump_.

“Oh my god,” Miss Beverly whispered. And then she turned, and Michelle’s eyes adjusted to the light, and Michelle realized who else was in the basement.

Tėtis. Tėtis with a twisted up frown that Michelle couldn’t read. Safety and security and reassurance and _fear._ They were safe, with him here. Miss Beverly was not.

The lights went out. The gun went off. Michelle began to scream.

_Thump. Thump._

_Thump._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST TRUST ME. PLEASE. TRUST ME. 
> 
> So this chapter was a bit of a wait, I know. If you follow me on tumblr, you already know this, but I'm in a bit of a rough spot right now, thanks to work and exhaustion, and this chapter fought me. Some days I wrote maybe two hundred words. Part of the problem is that this series works because we explore the things that change when you introduce Michelle to the situation. Michelle is 8 years old. Her presence would not be heavily felt in a serial murder trial. Add that to Will's incarceration meaning he struggles to interact with other characters, and when he does, they're usually still talking about the murder... It was a real struggle to write this chapter without either repeating the show word for word (which I hate), or skimming over stuff so fast that people who hadn't watched the episodes recently would be lost. It's why this is the first chapter to cover two episodes instead of just one. (Family of Choice had 12 chapters to the show's 13 episodes, but that was more Will forcing Hannibal's hand sooner, as opposed to combining two episodes into one chapter). There was a lot of 'this is not at all fun or interesting to write, but I have to get through it in order to get to the good stuff.'
> 
> That being said, we have done it! We have made it through the boring stuff! Will is still in prison, but things are finally going to start happening again. Things that Michelle can be present for, or things that are changed due to the butterfly effect of her existence and the Hannigram relationship. So the next chapter should be easier.
> 
> It seems like Michelle basically lucks her way into the BSHCI, but actually Matthew was watching for her and is in fact the one who left the door open. You just don't get to know that through Michelle's limited perspective. (He did not make her leave through the window. He let her go out the same door she came in, like a normal human being.) There wasn't anything super interesting in her conversation with Will, although she did still refuse to tell him how she'd gotten in. Mostly, there was hugging and crying.
> 
> I know everyone really hates Hannibal right now, and I know he does not connect emotionally with Michelle or Abigail in the same exact way a normal person would, but he definitely loves and cherishes Michelle and is upset that she is upset. Michelle definitely pokes at that Mischa-trauma-nerve he definitely has, and he doesn't like feeling like he failed her. She is probably the only human being who could draw that feeling from him, and it's largely thanks to her physical similarities to Mischa (Will is getting there, though, and will soon share that same space in Hannibal's limited emotional range). I try really hard to not make Michelle the magic Mary-Sue who 'changes' Hannibal too much, but I think it's not too out of character for him to be attached to her? Parenting does weird things to people. IDK I'm still not happy with the car scene.
> 
> Originally, they _did_ subpoena Michelle, and there was going to be a scene where she testified in court. It did not go well, because she wanted to tell the lawyer to shut up, and I couldn't find enough information on whether or not 8 year olds can be held in contempt of court. So we neatly side-step that with the judge's death.
> 
> Hannibal is changing Abigail, but she may be changing him, too. She's certainly not always approving of his parenting choices, and Hannibal will likely find it difficult to argue with the Free Child Care.
> 
> I really like scenes where Hannibal and his girls talk about murder like it's normal dinner conversation.
> 
> Honestly it didn't make much sense to allow Hannibal to testify on Will's behalf, but Will ran out of psychiatrist friends, and it wasn't like Hannibal did any worse this time around than he did in canon. I feel like Hannibal was more of a 'lesser of two evils' thing because Will's lawyer didn't have any other options.
> 
> So. This last scene. This was the easiest scene to write, by far. It was a scene I have been waiting to write. And honestly? My heart was pounding too. Just. Bear with me, guys.
> 
> Next on my update list is The Rules, followed by a small Spacedogs one-shot, and then the October Mystery Project I keep talking about on Tumblr. We will be back to Choices in Early November. I have no idea what the holidays will do to my update schedule.
> 
> Thanks for always sticking with me, guys. Even though I never shut the fuck up. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TOLD YOU ALL TO TRUST ME, AND YOU _DIDN'T._

_Thump. Thump._

**_Thump._ **

When the lights went on, there was a thin trickle of blood across Miss Beverly’s forehead, where Tėtis must have smacked her head against the floor. She was still breathing, though.

Tėtis went straight for a cabinet against one of the walls. “Abigail, I will need your assistance.”

For a moment, neither girl moved. Abigail clutched Michelle to her chest, so tight it was nearly painful. Tėtis looked over his shoulder with a frown. “She will not remain unconscious forever,” He said, and that was enough to get Abigail moving. She left Michelle against the wall, hurrying to gather equipment from the walls.

Michelle peered at Miss Beverly. She crept over, staring at the bruise that was slowly darkening Miss Beverly’s forehead.

Miss Beverly was still, except for her breathing. Soon, she would be even more still, frozen forever, unmoving.

When her parents died, Michelle had been too angry to really see. When Nina died, she had been too scared.

Now, she was calm, or at least trying to be. There was no danger, not with Tėtis around, and she had known from the moment they were discovered that Miss Beverly could not be allowed to leave. Michelle matched her breathing to the slow rise and fall of Miss Beverly’s chest, and wondered what it looked like when life slowly left someone. She had a thousand curiosities. What did the human heart look like when it was still beating? What would it feel like, if she touched it?

Reaching out, Michelle brushed a lock of hair from Miss Beverly’s face. For a moment, she knew she could do it, if Tėtis let her. She wanted to open someone up and see what made them tick.

But Miss Beverly…

Miss Beverly was nice to her, and more importantly, she was nice to Will. She believed in Will. She was the best person, outside of Michelle’s family.

“No.”

The word slipped from Michelle’s lips before she realized what she’d decided. Tėtis hesitated, and then knelt beside Michelle, setting a heavy bag down on the ground with a _thump_.

“No?” He asked, calm and patient. Not like Abigail, who stood before them wringing her hands.

“No,” Michelle confirmed, “Not this one. Not Miss Beverly.”

Tėtis gave her a smile, a confusing, unknown smile. “A penny for your thoughts?”

Michelle held out her hand expectantly. Tėtis chuckled and drew a five-dollar bill from his pocket. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out of pennies,” he explained. Michelle clutched the bill to her chest and thought it over carefully.

“She looked out for Will.” She finally said, “She was good to us. Good to our family. We should repay that kindness.”

“An eye for an eye,” Tėtis mused, which was _gross_.

“I don’t want her eyes,” Michelle insisted, frowning when Abigail began to giggle, hands finally stilling, “You can’t even make stuff with eyes. We don’t need them.”

“We’re not going to take her eyes,” Abigail promised, dropping down on Michelle’s other side. “Even if… Even if we kill her.”

Michelle nodded, tapping her fingers against the ground in one-two-three patterns. “I don’t think we should kill her,” She told Tėtis, “We didn’t kill the lady in the basement. At the secret house.”

Technically, no one had ever outright told her there was a lady in the basement, but Tėtis and Abigail talked about her a lot, and Michelle had put the facts together a long time ago. And she’d gotten very good at listening. Even so, Abigail went very still, and Tėtis gave her a funny smile.

“You know Miss Beverly cannot leave. Just like the lady in the basement.”

“I understand.”

“You would be condemning her to a life without consciousness. I’ve worked with our other guest to help her forget, but it has been a long process. I can’t say how long it would take me to change Miss Beverly’s mind, or if it can even be done on someone who knows us so well. Or” Tėtis added, bringing Michelle’s hands to his face so her gaze would be guided, so she knew he was saying something important, “I could end her life peacefully. She would know no pain.

Michelle hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. Abigail was giving her a funny look, one that Michelle had no matching face cards for.

“The choice is yours,” Tėtis said softly, squeezing both of Michelle’s hands in his big ones, “I will do whatever you ask of me. You needn’t stay, regardless.”

Michelle looked from Tėtis’s big big hands to Miss Beverly. Tėtis’s hands were rough from his work, but steady. Death did not bother him. And Michelle… She _wanted._ She wanted to sate her thousands of curiosities. She wanted to feel what it was like to control something so utterly.

But not tonight.

“I would like to keep her,” She decided, nodding once, “Even if we can’t change her mind.”

“Then that is what we’ll do.”

Abigail relaxed, then, her whole body going all loose. She rubbed at her eyes and sighed. “I guess you’ll need the IV stand, then?” She asked, getting to her feet when Tėtis nodded.

“Can I help?” Michelle asked, once Abigail was far enough away that Michelle didn’t have to wonder about all her funny looks. Tėtis gave her one instead, a small smile that she didn’t quite understand, but thought might be happy. Smiles were usually happy, weren’t they?”

“You may watch,” Tėtis said.

And so, she did.

\-----

Beverly Katz disappeared on a Friday. Her disappearance was not immediately noted; she lived alone, and her immediate family were all used to long delays before their calls were returned. In the end, it was Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller who first became suspicious, when she failed to show up at the lab on Monday.

Beverly did not return on Tuesday, or Wednesday. Her home, her car, her office. All were exactly as they should have been. Undisturbed. Unchanged. A package of chicken had been left to defrost on Friday morning. By the time Jimmy ad Brian let themselves into her apartment, it had gone bad, drawing in flies in thick black clumps.

When a week passed, desperation set in.

There was a file, because there had to be, but it was woefully underdeveloped. Will stared Jack down, flipping through the pages half-heartedly. “When I wrote my monograph on time of death by insect activity,” He said slowly, “I generally only looked at things that hadn’t already been butchered and processed.”

“I’m not asking you to investigate the chicken,” Jack said irritably. Will took another glance at the pictures.

“Whose apartment is it?” He asked, but even as the words left his lips, he’d turned to another angle shot of the kitchen, a glance at a refrigerator covered in family photos. Beverly was the oldest, the first in a line of many children, but the teenage girl right above the ice dispenser was her spitting image. “Whose apartment is it?” Will asked again, voice hoarse. Jack sighed.

“Beverly Katz has been missing for six days.”

Will looked up, quick and startled. “Six days,” He mouthed, more air than sound. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Six days,” He repeated, louder now, “And you’re only telling me _now_?”

“We launched an investigation as soon as we knew for sure-”

“You’re the head of the Behavioral Science Unit of the _FBI_ ,” Will growled, “You _know_ how crucial the first 48 hours are in a missing person’s investigation!”

“Which is why I put all of our resources into this case immediately,” Jack yelled back, raising his voice as if he could drown Will out. “In case you have forgotten, _you_ no longer work for me.”

“And yet, here you are,” Will said, voice dripping with spite, “Throwing yet another case at me, regardless of my mental health.”

“If you don’t want to help-”

“Of _course_ I want to help,” Will hissed, “Beverly was my friend. My _only_ friend, as of several weeks ago.”

“Then _help_. Take a look, tell me what you see.”

Will rolled his eyes, flipping through the pages. “It’s not what I can see, which you had to know wouldn’t be much. She wasn’t taken from the apartment. But she was talking to me. You hoped she would have said something, dropped a clue. But you still didn’t come right away. You didn’t come, because you knew what I would tell you.”

“Don’t try to pin this on Hannibal,” Jack warned.

“I’m pointing straight at Hannibal,” Will said, “And you left her to him. You left her with him for _six days_.”

“Hannibal Lecter has no motive! The man openly pined for you _in court_ , a man whom I have never seen with a single hair out of place where someone else might see.”

“And wasn’t _that_ , convenient?” Will mused. Jack raised his voice and spoke over him.

“You spoke to Beverly less than 24 hours before we estimate she disappeared. What did you speak about?”

“She brought me a case file, I assumed on your behalf,” Will said, giving Bev’s file a pointed look, “I agreed to look, if she would do me a courtesy in return.

“What did you ask for?”

Will stared Jack down, firm, unwavering. “Faith.”

\-----  
Will was not allowed to keep the file, but it mattered very little. He had memorized every detail, every facet of Beverly’s life that had been laid out before him. He ran through it again, alone in his cell, flashes of color, points of data lining up to map Beverly’s life outside of the BSU, outside of what Will knew of her.

He knew where Beverly must have ended up. What she must have seen, given her disappearance. He knew, with lingering dread and overwhelming sorrow, what had to have become of her. The only thing he couldn’t figure out was what Hannibal had done with the _body._

It wasn’t the first body he’d made disappear. Abigail’s had vanished as well. But typically, he snatched up a few organs and left the rest to rot, an art piece dedicated to his own brilliance.

Perhaps it was the only way Hannibal could honor them, by consuming them in their entirety. After all, he’d held some measure of affection for Abigail, and presumably for Beverly. Hannibal admired intelligence, and drive. He’d admired Will so hard he’d made him disappear from everyday life entirely. Will thought, with a moment of bitter humor, that perhaps they should check Chilton’s appointment book to find Beverly.

Michelle had liked Beverly, Will recalled, and Beverly had returned her regard. She’d been as attached to Abigail as if they’d been raised together, and that thought set a painful stab through Will that took a long moment to push past. Perhaps it was as simple as that. Maybe Hannibal was reluctant to leave his broken toys lying about where his daughter might see them. He’d shown no fear of her overlooking any other sort of death or destruction, but it would be different with people she knew. People she cared about. Would she still be able to trust her Tėtis, when his pedestal was bolstered up by the corpses of her loved ones?

It had to have been that. Occam’s Razor. The simplest solution was often the truth.

But the thought kept running through his head anyway, over and over again. _What did he do with the body?_

_\-----_

They didn’t take Miss Beverly to the secret house. Not right away, at least. Tėtis would probably take her later, when things were calmer. Right now, he was indulging Michelle’s curiosity, and she was grateful for it.

Miss Beverly slept all the time now. She had a special bag of stuff that helped her rest. Michelle was to leave it alone and let Abigail and Tėtis look after Miss Beverly. But sometimes, Michelle could not leave it alone. She couldn’t wait for Tėtis to decide it was time to show her something.

Sometimes, she just needed to know. In the middle of the night, she crawled from bed, detangling herself from Abigail, and snuck down into the special basement.

Miss Beverly looked like Dead, or at least what Michelle imagined Dead to look like. Her experience was limited, beyond pictures of things that had already rotted away. Michelle had been distraught both times she’d been in a room with a corpse, and Nina at the funeral had been an artificial death, something grown-ups made up to feel better about dying.

Miss Beverly looked like real death, still and silent. She breathed, but it was slow. If Michelle stared, eyes open until they watered and went blurry, then she didn’t seem to move at all. Her skin was warm to the touch, though, and it gave where Nina’s had been stiff. They put stuff in the corpses, she knew that. Tėtis had explained it to her. They had a whole process where they took out all the old stuff and put in gross new chemical stuff that made dead people smell funny.

But bodies also went stiff when they died. Rigor… Rigor… Rigor something, Michelle couldn’t recall the word. She poked at Miss Beverly again to watch her skin depress, pressing hard until the smooth tone of skin gave way to white, and then pulling back to watch the color flow back into the mark from Michelle’s fingers.

It was like Sleeping Beauty, she guessed. Like the fairy tale. Except kisses didn’t really wake people up from comas, doctors did that.

Michelle tried it anyway, just for fun, just for pretend. She pressed a soft kiss to the dry smoothness of Miss Beverly’s cheek, and then got distracted by the dark rivers of her hair.

Miss Beverly had nice hair. Abigail brushed it for her now, kept it free of tangles. Miss Beverly didn’t move enough to get tangles, of course, but Abigail would come and move her around, so she didn’t get bed sores, and that was enough to tangle some threads.

( _Michelle asked why he lady in the secret house didn’t get bed sores, if they weren’t always there to turn her. Abigail said she was sometimes awake enough to move herself, if not aware. Michelle didn’t know how you could be awake and not aware. It sounded scary, like the opposite of night terrors, the **parallel** of lying still and stiff in your bed and watching the monsters close in.)_

Abigail was teaching Michelle to braid hair. She practiced it now on the dark locks that spread out over the pillow. Her braids still looked like clumsy knots. Michelle was quick to undo them, tucking Beverly’s hair back into place so that Abigail wouldn’t know she’d been here.

There was a thrill to doing something you weren’t supposed to do, so long as you didn’t get caught. This wasn’t even like eavesdropping, something that Michelle was also technically not supposed to do, but that Tėtis wanted her to do _well_ so that she never got in trouble for it. There was no game here, no challenge to see if she didn’t get caught. She was not supposed to be in the basement alone, and it was the normal ‘not supposed to.’

But she wanted. She had thought about it, all night. All week. Michelle traced her finger over Miss Beverly’s skin again, up over her collar bone, her throat. Tėtis had a bump here. All men did, the Adam’s Apple. Michelle didn’t know why, or who Adam was. Some guy who had the first bump, way way back before Tėtis was alive, before anyone she knew was alive, before the whole world as she knew it was alive.

The world was old, ancient. It went on and on, so far back that it made Michelle’s head ache to think about it. The world was as old as death, and yet death was different every time.

Michelle poked Miss Beverly’s cheek, then again, a little harder. She did not wake up. She was not going to wake up, no matter how much Michelle poked or prodded. She couldn’t. Just like death.

An eye for an eye, Tėtis had said. She knew what that meant now, now that he had explained it. It didn’t mean literally taking someone’s eyes. It meant cruelty in return for cruelty, or kindness in return for kindness. Giving what you received. Michelle didn’t even know what she would _do_ with an eye. What would anyone do with it?

Probably, there were places you ate eyes. There were places you ate lots of things. Tėtis’s kitchen was one of those places, before Michelle, but he had better meals now that she was there to stop him when he got weird. They didn’t eat eyes in Tėtis’s kitchen. But they ate organs, sometimes, when Michelle was trying not to be picky. And organs lived…

Miss Beverly’s shirt pushed up easily. Just a little. Just enough to see her stomach. This was also Not Allowed, Michelle was pretty sure. Not supposed to be here at all, let alone touching, looking, examining. But the organs…

Kidney beans weren’t really kidneys, they just looked like them. Before they got cut up and cooked through. Michelle knew where the kidneys lived, Tėtis had showed her. Steak and kidney pie. Michelle hadn’t liked the texture, but she’d liked the potatoes. Michelle just about always liked the potatoes.

If they took Miss Beverly’s kidneys, Tėtis would probably cut her right about… Michelle hummed, and then traced a line with her fingertip just to the side of Miss Beverly’s belly button. Maybe that wasn’t right. Maybe the side, or the back, or just further over. But the belly button seemed like a good place to open people up. And then you could see everything, all the organs laid out in their home. Would they move, if Miss Beverly was alive? Or were they still too, except for the lungs?

Michelle traced the line again, with her fingernail this time, and left a red mark in her wake. If they cut Miss Beverly, she would bleed. But she wouldn’t hurt. She wouldn’t feel anything, with the needle in her hand.

Michelle wondered what it was like to walk around, missing pieces. If you could feel it. If you would know. Would Miss Beverly know? If they cut her open, took something out, and then left her to heal? Stitched her back up like a stuffed animal and waited for the scars?

What was it like, to miss something vital? Did you feel empty? Would you know something was wrong? Michelle traced the shape of a kidney with her fingernail.

“I think that’s enough now, Michelle.”

The voice startled her. Michelle jumped back and nearly knocked over the IV stand, righting it with a hasty clatter. Tėtis had come for her, standing at the foot of the stairs in his quiet sneaky sock feet. She ducked her head away from his eyes. Tėtis saw too much, when he looked at people. She didn’t want to be one of them right now.

“I was just looking!” Michelle insisted, in the time-honored tradition of children who were not ‘just looking.’ Even children knew that grown-ups were not going to fall for that, but Michelle had to try anyway.

“We don’t lie to each other,” Tėtis reminded her, but he didn’t look angry. Probably. He looked like the face card for ‘amused,’ with scrunched up happy-eyes.

“I touched a little bit,” Michelle admitted, “But just a little bit. I wanted to… I wanted to…” She trailed off. Tėtis never looked at her the way other people did, all funny and twisted up. No matter what she said. But there were some things you weren’t supposed to say, weren’t supposed to think about. Especially little girls. Michelle could write whole entire books on what people thought little girls shouldn’t do.

But Tėtis wasn’t people. Tėtis and Abigail and Michelle and Will… They were all something else entirely. Something different.

“I was wondering what it looks like, on the inside,” Michelle whispered, tugging Miss Beverly’s shirt back over her stomach.

“One day, I’ll show you,” Tėtis promised, taking her hand, “But for now, we should let Miss Beverly rest. And get some rest ourselves, for school and for work.”

Michelle felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired. Now that she had seen what she came to see, it was like all her sleepiness had come back at once. She held her arms up and couldn’t help a little giggle as Tėtis swung her up. Sometimes, being small was annoying, but when she could snuggle close and be carried up the stairs, it was not so bad.

\-----

It really was amazing what Will was allowed to get away with, given the fact that he was locked up in a hospital for the criminally insane. Sure, he wasn’t allowed to eat decent food, or hide away to use the bathroom, or wear shoes with laces. But he _could_ coerce the director into bringing a convicted murderer he was actively afraid of back into the hospital, as well as landing himself some one-on-one time with said murderer. And, of course, there was the Tattle Crime interview. Letting Freddie Lounds do her thing. He’d complained before about resorting to her particular brand of tabloid bile, but it had its uses.

He was, admittedly, a bit surprised to find his admirer standing so close to him. Literally, within touching distance.

“You found a great place to hide,” Will mused as the orderly- Brown, he recalled, Matthew Brown- circled him.

“In plain sight,” Matthew agreed, “Spend enough time in the hospital, you learn what they expect. How to act, to get a job as an orderly. They may never even know you were in.”

“You know Chilton has this entire place bugged, don’t you?”

“Who do you think set it up for him?’

Will took a second look at Matthew Brown. Eager, too much so. Hungry for a taste of something he didn’t quite know how to get for himself. And just a bit scared of it, despite the bravado he showed. The Ripper, after all, did not kill with guns. He mutilated people until they died. Matthew let the gun do the work for him and then ripped the corpses apart. Matthew wanted to play with the big boys, but he hadn’t yet figured out that there was more to darkness than just death. A big fish in a small pond, Will mused, swimming around, looking for the lure. Well, Will knew how to play bait.

Matthew was eager to talk about his triumphs, although he waved off Will’s question about the judge.

“I killed the bailiff,” He insisted. “The judge was… someone else.”

He didn’t fill in the blanks. He didn’t have to. Will knew immediately. Without the judge, there would be a mistrial. A clean slate. Will could plead insanity again. _Hannibal_.

Will pushed the thought away, before he could let himself wonder _why_. He didn’t want to know. He was… He was afraid of what he would find.

It didn’t matter. Whatever Hannibal did now, it paled before the things he’d done in Will’s home. To Will. To Michelle. To _Abigail_.

“If you ever need anything, Mr. Graham…” Matthew trailed off pointedly.

He did need something, actually. He needed Hannibal’s head on a platter. He was fairly certain he could coax Matthew into that, too, if he tried even the tiniest bit. Matthew was practically chomping at the bit to impress Will. Will wanted to let him. He wanted Hannibal torn apart for everything he’d put Will through. Everything he’d put Abigail through, the things he had done to their family.

Their family. Michelle, small and sweet and desperately enamored with her Tėtis.

There would be no coming back from Hannibal’s death, not at Will’s hands, or an extension thereof. Will could almost handle the thought of it. He didn’t deserve her anyway. His hands were already stained black with the thoughts that bounced thickly through his skull. But she would be alone, then, well and truly, and Will would not be outside to help her. He would be trapped here, as she dealt with the loss of everyone she loved, all at once. Foster care would be better for her than Will, surely, and absolutely better than any traits the Chesapeake Ripper would seek to foster in her. Alone, though, it was sure to devastate her. At least if Will was out of the hospital, he could visit her. He could calm her fears.

If Will managed to lead someone to evidence against Hannibal, the police would come. It would be rough for Michelle, but Hannibal would live. There was no death penalty in Maryland, after all, not anymore.  But if Will sent Matthew Brown, infatuated with violence and his own darkness, he was just as likely to rip Hannibal apart right in front of her, if he could catch Hannibal off guard to begin with. And Will didn’t want her anywhere near this man and his bloodlust.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Will finally said, allowing himself to be cuffed again.

Matthew Brown came to him again, for dinner. “I mean it, Mr. Graham. Anything.”

Will smiled, small and secret, and promised to remember. He could smell the thirst for recognition, wafting up from Matthew’s skin like bad cologne. Too eager, Will had thought earlier, and he felt more and more certain as time went on.

Matthew frowned, leaning forward against the bars, encroaching on the small space that was dreadful, yes, but _Will’s_. “I thought you’d be a little more excited. Man on the outside, and all that. Thirsty for revenge.”

“Well, you know how it’s best served, don’t you?”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Justice,” He told Will, “Is meant to be swift.”

“Swift, perhaps,” Will agreed, “But I prefer mine thoroughly planned. I want to be able to enjoy it, after all.”

“I’d make sure you enjoyed it,” Matthew said, low and fierce, eyes blazing. Suddenly, Will had the sneaking suspicion they were talking about something else entirely. The blaze of bloodlust had lost something, had become a look Will was much more accustomed to seeing on a typical person. A lust of a more traditional kind.

“When I need you, you’ll know,” Will said, after a long moment where Matthew merely _watched_ him.

“I’ll know,” Matthew agreed, and somehow, Will still felt like they were having two different conversations. He’d just lost the thread of the other.

\-----

The knock came while Michelle was in the kitchen with Tėtis, helping to cook.  Tėtis was elbow deep in icky icky guts. Michelle was learning that they were not so bad when cooked, but raw they were gross. They squished and made slippery sounds that made Michelle’s skin itchy.

Tėtis looked up and frowned. Probably not an invited guest, then. He would have told Michelle about that, anyway. She didn’t like sneaky surprises.

“I can get it,” She said, unable to resist the burning curiosity, the uncomfortable sharpness of not-knowing. She bolted before Tėtis could say anything, hurrying for the door.

The man who worked at the hospital was still tall tall tall. Michelle peered up at him from the doorway, and her heart went _thump thump thump_. He was at their door. He was not at the hospital with Will. Why wouldn’t he be at the hospital with Will, unless something was Wrong. Big and Bad and Capital Letter Wrong.

“Hey,” The man said softly, crouching down to her level, “Everything’s okay. Will sent me to check on you, and to talk to your Daddy.”

“I don’t have a Daddy,” Michelle informed him, “I have a Tėtis.”

“Him, then. I need to talk to him. It’s very important, can I come in?”

Michelle could hear Tėtis rinsing his hands quickly in the other room. She hesitated.

“Hey,” The man said again, “We’re friends, aren’t we? You can trust me.”

Michelle let him inside. The door closed behind him with a quiet little ‘snick.’ She didn’t know any better. She would wish that she had known better.

——-

“Michelle?”

Hannibal had barely stepped into the hallway when the man pulled out the gun. He froze immediately, looking first to Michelle. She looked unharmed, if startled. She looked between the man and the gun as if they were an equation she couldn’t figure out, as if something here had gone completely off-track.

“Let’s step away from the front door, shall we?” The man said with an easy grin. “Wouldn’t want to bother the neighbors.”

He took Michelle by the hand, easy, like he had any right at all to touch her. Hannibal could see the shadowed look that Michelle always got when overwhelmed, blooming across her face like a storm cloud. She followed along as the man backed Hannibal into the kitchen. A mistake, a relief. The man may have held a gun and Hannibal’s daughter, but he’d trapped the Chesapeake Ripper in a room full of knives.

“I generally don’t invite guests for dinner without at least knowing their name,” Hannibal said.

The man smiled, slightly crooked, a bit manic. He tilted his head and showed all his teeth. “I’m the new boyfriend,” He said with a laugh, “In a manner of speaking. I’m here on behalf of Will Graham.”

Hannibal’s eyes shifted to the gun once more, trained on his chest, but wavering with the man’s distraction. Will was angry, Hannibal understood this, but surely…”

“Will Graham is not what you think he is.”

“And who do you think that _I_ think he is?”

“Will is not a killer.”

Another wide, toothy grin. “He wasn’t, was he? Not before the arrest, anyway.” The man bowed with a hint of a flourish. “But he is now. By proxy, at least.”

Ice flooded Hannibal’s being. His heart seemed to skip and falter, clenched tight in his chest. Betrayal. Betrayal he knew he may not have a right to, but one he claimed with a fierce and burning anger.

And then he glanced at Michelle again, at her cold and hollow expression, numb with fear and shutting out the world around her, hand limp where the man held it.

No. Whatever the man said, whatever contempt Will may have held for Hannibal, he would not have done this to their daughter.

“You know that Will is not the man who’s regard you sought, and yet here you are.”

The man tilted his gun this way and that, fidgeting with it one-handed, as if he was bored. “He’s an interesting thing, all on his own. But you knew that, didn’t you? It’s why you set him up.”

Hannibal leaned back against the counter, casual. He kept his hands visible, for now. “You believe Will’s accusations, then?”

“Somebody had to kill the judge,” The man said with a shrug, “And I see what the others don’t. The things that Will Graham sees. Darkness and shadows. Potential.”

“You were admiring the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“I was,” The man agreed. He let go of Michelle’s hand and steadied the gun. “But then I figured, what’s the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Imitation, naturally.”

“Imitation,” the man agreed, “I could learn your murders inside out. I could memorize them.” He laughed, dancing the barrel of the gun across Hannibal’s body, trying to pick his next shot. Hannibal had three knives within arm’s reach, but no right moment to lean towards them.

“Memorization is not the same as knowledge,” Hannibal pointed out, “And a copy will only ever be a copy.”

“Who knows?” The man shrugged. “The Iroquois used to eat their enemies to take their strength. Maybe your murders will become my murders. I’ll be the Chesapeake Ripper now.”

“Only if you eat me,” Hannibal pointed out, a small grin of his own creeping across his face. He slid his hand another inch across the counter.

“I’ll become the new you,” The man continued, as if he hadn’t heard Hannibal. Or perhaps, given the glint in his eyes, as if he knew exactly what Hannibal had been referencing. “Will Graham and I, together. He may not have been ripe enough for you, but I see him. You’ve set him down a whole new path, Dr. Lecter.”

“Whatever path Will is on is one of his own making,” Hannibal told him, “I could never force him to be anything but who he is. I wouldn’t want to.”

“Well, then we’re lucky that who he is happens to be kind of messed up, aren’t we?” The man sighed, straightening his aim once more. “I wanted this to be fancier. I had a whole plan. The hanging of Judas. It would have been beautiful. But the munchkin threw a wrench into that one, so you’ll have to be satisfied with just dying like the rest of us.” He pulled the trigger. Hannibal’s hand jerked against the knife he’d grabbed, and it skittered off the counter and out of reach. The gun had not been silenced. It echoed in a violent wave, so loud that Michelle broke her silence, crying out as she slammed her hands over her ears and began to rock. Despite the pain that blossomed in his side, forcing him down to the ground, Hannibal’s first instinct was to go to her. He made an aborted move, barely a shift before his wound screamed. He leaned back against the cabinets, sprawled across the floor, bleeding out across the ground.

The man frowned down at Michelle, and then awkwardly ran a hand through her hair. She flinched away from the touch, freezing statue-still again, no longer screaming. Instead, she stared at the blood with wide, unseeing eyes.

“It’ll be okay,” The man promised her, “We’re going on a trip. I have some treats for you. We’ll pick up Will, as soon as we can. He misses you.”

He may have been speaking to Michelle, but the words sounded robotic, rehearsed. He didn’t properly look at her, did not seem to know how to interact with a child. Instead, he turned back to Hannibal, stepping forward and kneeling before him. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, Will and I. We- “

He didn’t have the time to say anything else. He’d come prepared for Hannibal, full of sweet words for Michelle. He did not, could not, expect Abigail Hobbs, or the way she grabbed ahold of his head and twisted it in one quick, jerking motion.

It wasn’t perfect; Abigail was not as strong as Hannibal, nor as practiced. She could not kill a man with a single determined twist. But she could misalign the vertebrae, snap something irreplaceable. The man dropped to Hannibal’s floor in a heap, unmoving. Abigail was careful to draw him back, away from the blood.

“I can’t stitch this,” Abigail said, dropping down to look at the wound. “It’s too much blood. You need a transfusion.”

“I have some of my blood stored,” Hannibal said, “For emergencies. But I would not be able to hide the recovery. It would be better to be seen at the hospital.”

“You have some…” Abigail trailed off, then shook her head, “What am I saying, of course you do. So, what do we do with _this_?” She nudged the man with her foot. He did not appear to be entirely conscious, possibly from how hard his head had smacked against the floor, but he let out a pained groan.

“Like Nicholas Boyle,” Hannibal said, hauling himself upright with a gasp of his own. Abigail nodded sharply. Hannibal would have expected her to waver, but it seemed her instincts were less stressful to her in times of crisis. Perhaps if she could explain it as defense, it would weigh less heavily on her. Hannibal would have preferred joy to indifference, but he would take either.

“He panicked when Shelly screamed. Bolted out the door. You didn’t see which way he went.”

Hannibal nodded, accepting his phone from Abigail’s hand. “Into the basement, then. I’ll practice the story with Michelle while we wait for the ambulance.”

Abigail grabbed the man by the shoulders and began to drag him. “Looks like you’ll get your lesson after all, Shell,” She said, sounding much more chipper about it than she had when Hannibal had first suggested it. Hannibal supposed defending her home had put her in a much better mood.

Michelle, stiff as a board, said nothing.

\-----  
Michelle did well with the paramedics, and Alana, who’d come to tend to her while Hannibal went into surgery. By the time Hannibal woke in his hospital room, Michelle in a chair pulled as close to the bed as she could get it and Jack in the doorway, Michelle’s mood had turned sour.

The first thing Hannibal heard was Michelle’s plaintive whine, “I wanna go home.” The second was a cleared throat, followed by Jack’s determined command.

“Dr. Bloom, would you mind waiting with Miss Michelle out in the hall?”

Alana started to nod. Michelle, with an attitude that could only be attributed to Abigail, though never while Hannibal was around to see, whirled on Jack. “You’ll pry me out of this room over my cold, _dead_ body,” She said, which was not an expression Hannibal could recall ever teaching her. She followed it up with “That’s an expression, though, it’s not literal, ‘cause nobody’s dead. It just means no. Extra no.” This, at least, sounded a bit more like his Michelle.

“It seems my boss has spoken, Jack.” Hannibal said, pressing the button that would raise his bed to a sitting position. It sent a new flare of pain through his side, but whatever they had threaded through his IV was doing a decent job of keeping much of it away.

Jack looked disgruntled. No doubt he was used to his team of scientists, who were under obligation to jump through his hoops, or to Will, who jumped through them largely to get Jack to go away. As a man who’d never had children, he was not prepared for the defiance that could come from one who was up far past their bedtime. “The conversation we need to have is not one appropriate for little ears.”

“I don’t have little ears,” Michelle insisted, pushing her hair back behind one of them for emphasis. “I have normal ears.”

“It’s probably boring grown-up talk,” Alana tried, “We could go down to the cafeteria, see if we can pick you up a treat?” It might have worked on another child, a more typical child, but Hannibal did not raise his girls to be typical. Michelle shook her head, meeting Jack’s glare with one of her own, albeit aimed more towards his shoes than his face.

If Jack expected Hannibal to reign in Michelle, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Hannibal was on far too many painkillers to discourage her, even if there were perhaps politer ways to say, ‘go away.’ That required a finesse many adults couldn’t manage, let alone young children.

“Fine,” Jack said, when glaring silently at Hannibal failed to budge Michelle from her chair, “The man who attacked you, his name was Matthew Brown. He was an orderly at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Chilton has already released his employee file to us.”

Hannibal waited, but Jack shot an uncomfortable look at Michelle and did not speak again. Alana hovered between the two of them, fitful and uncertain, before sitting back down in the chair she’d vacated. Hannibal sighed.

“I’m afraid if you’ve hidden a question in there, Jack, the morphine has kept it from me. You’ll need to be more direct.”

“Matthew Brown was frequently assigned to Will’s cell block, and to Will personally. He escorted him to therapy and to his visitor meetings. They had many moments alone.”

Jack seemed reluctant to continue, and Hannibal finally took pity on him. “You want to know if Will sent him in my direction.”

Michelle stiffened. Jack looked profoundly uncomfortable. Hannibal was at a crossroads.

He knew Will. Will would not have put Michelle in harms way, and he would not have considered Matthew’s inept bribery to be any sort of reasonable care.

But he could plant more seeds of doubt in Jack’s mind, seeds that would sway him away from Will’s seemingly baseless accusations.

Then again, Jack needn’t believe Will a murderer to doubt the blame he cast at Hannibal. And Hannibal already had a plan in place for _that_.

“Matthew Brown implied that he intended to take my child with him,” Hannibal said, pulling Michelle into the bed with him, despite the pain and the cramped space. She folded easily, quiet and timid as she had been back in those first few weeks together. She turned away from Jack, pressing her head under Hannibal’s chin. Hannibal held her tightly, and did not need to feign his outrage. “I have often worried about Will’s health, about his mental state. I have never once worried about his love for Michelle. Whatever monster he may be imagining me as, I do not believe him capable of causing her harm.”

Though Jack had been visibly distressed through every moment of Will’s incarceration, this did not seem to be the answer he’d been looking for. No matter. If he thought Hannibal was willing to lie on Will’s behalf, it would only strengthen the belief that Hannibal cared for Will, that he hated to see him where he was. Which was, of course, true, but Jack would use that belief to cancel out any that he felt conflicted.

“You’re saying it was a coincidence, then? This man spends time, _unmonitored_ , with a man accused of multiple murders, who has openly denounced you to anyone who would listen, and then shows up at your doorstep with a gun. And yet Will had nothing to do with it?”

“On the contrary,” Hannibal said, “Will had _everything_ to do with it. I believe Mr. Brown may harbor some admiration for Will. He may have thought that killing me would impress him.”

“Would he have been right?” From the look on Jack’s face, he had not meant to ask that out loud. Nevertheless, Hannibal gave him an answer.

“If I were the monster Will believes me to be, he would not suffer from my death. But he would regret the pain it caused Michelle, and I don’t believe Will capable of causing such pain. If you’re looking for a different answer, Jack, you won’t get one from me.”

Jack glared for a moment longer, stiff and unyielding. Hannibal briefly entertained the thought that he would stand there all night, waiting for Hannibal to give him an answer he liked better. Sadly, Alana was ever the peacekeeper.

“I think we’ve all had a r long night, Jack,” She said gently, “Hannibal and Michelle both need their rest, and you probably have a lot of work to do. Maybe we should table this discussion for now.”

Jack looked as if he would very much like to turn his glare on Alana, but could not find fault with anything she’d said. He eventually drew himself up to his full height with a nod. “Fine. I’ll keep you updated when we find this guy.”

“Please do.”

Jack stormed out in the same swirl of disgruntled ire he’d come in with, leaving Hannibal to Alana’s mercy. Alana blinked at him, red-eyed and yearning. She’d always seen Hannibal as a source of comfort, of rationality. Typically, it was flattering, but right now it was exhausting. Hannibal was strong and fit, with a high tolerance for pain, but he was still a man who’d been shot in the abdomen mere hours before.

Alana looked between Hannibal and Michelle. Hannibal could tell that Michelle was wide awake, attuned to the changes in her breathing that every parent adjusted to, but Alana could only see the back of her hair, the silent stillness she projected.

“If Will was resentful,” Alana began, and then could not seem to go any further. She cleared her throat, and tried again, “He’s always been so alone. If he felt betrayed-“ But she lost herself again, this time with a small, choking sob. Hannibal felt far too tired to be comforting but he reached for her anyway, taking her hand.

“Will would not have done this to Michelle,” Hannibal repeated, firmly and truthfully. “I cannot say what illness and incarceration have done to him. But it is not what you fear, Alana.”

Alana gave a sharp, stiff nod, squeezing his hand back. She looked at his face, his eyes, searching for something. Whatever she found, it encouraged her. She leaned forward, pressing her lips against his.

Hannibal was normally a bit better about things like this. He prided himself on his ability to read a room, knowing a person as intimately as Will could, without Will’s tendency towards stress. It must have been the morphine, therefor, that made the kiss a complete surprise.

Alana pulled back before Hannibal could respond, before he could even think fast enough to determine what response he should try.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” She mumbled, and her gaze dropped back to Michelle’s tangled hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Alana- “

“I’m sorry,” She said again, and fled.

\-----  
Everything was always so loud, in hospitals. Beeping and squeaking and scraping. Bright lights and scratchy sheets. Michelle wanted to be home, in bed with her weighted blanket and her squishy ball, and the pillow with the good smells her Nina made her for night terrors. But instead she was here, with Tėtis, and with Dr. Bloom, and not Abigail and not Will, and everything was _wrong_.

“What shouldn’t she have done?” Michelle asked, even though she knew, she _knew_. Dr. Bloom was friendly, and kind, and she had always been good to Michelle, but she wasn’t supposed to be doing things like _that_ with Tėtis. Will was coming home, Tėtis had promised, and he would be mad. Michelle was mad.

“That’s not what you want to ask me, is it?” Tėtis nudged her until she sat up properly to look at his cheekbones. She liked his cheekbones. They were a good place to look instead of eyes.

It wasn’t. Not really. She didn’t need the answer to that question. She needed the answer to the Bad question, the one that tick tick ticked inside of her, closer and closer to making her go _boom_ , to making her into a million broken pieces. Tėtis waited, patient. He was always patient. Michelle didn’t know how to be patient, didn’t know how to push down the pressing, burning _need_ she always felt.

“… _Did_ Will send that man to us?”

The corners of Tėtis’s mouth turned down, and his eyebrows tilted down too, just like the face card for sad.

“You’ve been listening tonight, haven’t you?”

Michelle shrugged and began to tap her hands against Tėtis’s chest, until he bundled her hands into his big ones and guided them up to his chin instead. Michelle focused on his face as hard as she could, with everything she had. “Sometimes the truth we have to tell other people, and the truth we tell each other, they’re not always the same thing.”

“No, they’re not,” Tėtis agreed. He lifted her hands up a little higher, guiding. “But listen to me very closely, please.”

“Listening.”

“Will loves you. _I_ love you. Neither of us is going to let anything happen to you. Neither of us would hurt you. Do you understand?”

“Understand,” Michelle parroted back, falling back on old habits from when she’d been very small, and words had seemed so very big. When it was just her and Tėtis, when she was learning how to be Michelle Lecter instead of Michelle Holt.

“Atta girl,” Tėtis praised, and kissed her forehead, “Now, why don’t we both get some rest?”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to stay,” Michelle said, even as she let Tėtis tuck her in alongside him, “I don’t think I’m even supposed to be here this late.”

“Well, we’ll just see how long we can get away with breaking the rules, shall we?”

“Okay.”

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. That happened.
> 
> This is not getting updated when I WANTED to update it, but I'm happy with what I wrote. Now, onto the rambles:
> 
> I TOLD YOU TO TRUST ME. I SAID 'GUYS, JUST TRUST ME,' AND NOT A SINGLE ONE OF YOU DID! 
> 
> So, Beverly is alive. I couldn't kill Bev, guys, I just couldn't. I'm actually running around trying to figure out who to kill off next because so far, everyone is insisting on being _necessary._
> 
> This chapter is really fucking creepy. Michelle is really fucking creepy. But the thing is, guys, if any of you are surprised, you shouldn't be. I have been dropping hints so hard, since all the way back in the beginning of FoC. Specifically, in Chapter 4 of Family of Choice, I dropped a hint that nobody seemed to pick up on, or if they did, no one brought it up to me, then or since. It is only fitting that I bring it back now, in chapter four of the sequel:
> 
> _“Did you hurt the baby, Michelle?”_   
>  _“Not me. **Not this time.”**_
> 
> So yeah. When Michelle's bio-mom was ranting about Michelle and talking crap about her own kid? Saying things like how weird Michelle was? So uh... Not everything she said was truthful, obviously, which everyone picked up on. But she wasn't entirely lying, either. The kids are not alright. But as much as everyone hates Hannibal right now, this one's not actually his fault. Michelle came to him like this. Although, Hannibal probably did not help. 
> 
> (Sidenote: I'm not saying Michelle was evil or irreparably damaged when Hannibal got her. She was just a kid in a bad situation who didn't have any good example of how to behave, and who was neglected and abused enough to start lashing out. In my head, the parents favored her brother and that just made things worse. None of this was Michelle's fault, and even with her creepiness, she's _still_ better off with Hannibal, who would at least probably not encourage violence against other children. Probably.)
> 
> Michelle is doing better on the whole 'relating to others' thing, but only on people she claims. She is largely mistrustful of people who are not family or in some other way useful/important to her (EX: She had genuine affection for Nina, though Nina was not 'family,' and while she feels no affection for Matthew Brown, she trusts him because he did something for her that was important.)
> 
> Matthew decided to take things into his own hands when Will didn't send him, in hopes that it would impress Will. He clearly knows, in canon, that Will is not the Chesapeake Ripper, so I'm not entirely sure what his motivation there was, but in this fic I'm going with 'Murder Crush.' I'm pretty sure it's Murder Crush in the show, too. Will might not be the Ripper, but Matthew sees something reflected in him that he likes.
> 
> Michelle's going to have some guilt, going forward. So is Abigail. And as for Hannibloom... Well, we haven't seen the last of that, but it is not going to go like the show did.
> 
> So, guys. I know when I first started, I had a regular update schedule, and I don't anymore. And I know you all really like this fic, and I have actively encouraged people towards my tumblr to ask me questions. But please, before you do, check the tags and my post history to see what I've said? I had well meaning anons popping up into my inbox to ask me to write more of this fic, despite the fact that I had repeatedly said it was coming, but slow because of work and depression, and it was a very upsetting time for me, and presumably to the anons who thought they were being nice. Just. If I say my writing is slow because I am severely depressed, please understand that asking me when I'm going to update really doesn't help, no matter how nice you are about it.


	5. Chapter 5

Tėtis checked himself out of the hospital as soon as he could stand, against doctor’s orders. Generally, Abigail had told Michelle, people were supposed to be supervised when recovering from gunshot wounds, but Tėtis already knew what signs to look for, and Michelle had been very uncomfortable sleeping in Dr. Bloom’s spare bedroom. She didn’t know what to say to Dr. Bloom, who had done a Bad Thing and was pretending she hadn’t.

Tėtis picked Michelle up as soon as he could, and took a few days off work. He spent a good deal of them at the harpsichord. He always composed, when he felt big, unbearable moods. Angry and sad and excited. Somewhere was a sheet of papers with Michelle’s name on them, her first Christmas present, the melody he’d written about when she first came to stay.

Michelle didn’t understand how music without words could really mean anything, but the song that was just for her was pretty, light and airy. She had a recording of it on her iPod, and sometimes, on a bad day, she would sprawl out on her back and stare up at the ceiling, listening to the notes rising and falling. She would close her eyes and go away somewhere, somewhere safe.

The song that Tėtis was composing didn’t sound like somewhere safe. For one thing, it wasn’t done yet, so sometimes the notes would build and build only to cut off, abrupt and off-kilter. For another, Tėtis made a funny face when he composed it.

Michelle was supposed to be with Abigail, but when Abigail had Big Important things to do in the basement, she would creep to the doorway of the family room, and watch. Listen. Let the music thrum through her body in great waves.

“Michelle.”

The notes came to a stop. Michelle was lost, empty, adrift. Her face flushed. She stumbled over the Bad Foot and tripped her way into the room.

“It’s rude to hover in doorways,” Tėtis told her, but he smiled when he said it and patted the seat of the bench next to him. Michelle scrambled towards the invitation, always eager to press herself under the heavy weight of Tėtis’s arm. He pulled her close and watched with a tiny smile as she poked curiously at the keys.

“You’re getting better,” He told her, when she made an eager attempt at Chopsticks.

“My hands are still too small,” She complained. Tėtis placed his big hands over hers and carefully guided her through a few notes. It sounded better when he helped. They played together, Chopsticks and then something light and easy she’d learned a few months earlier and then forgotten entirely. Michelle leaned into him and for a long moment, it was just her and Tėtis and the music.

That moment ended, though. All moments ended, but lately it seemed that they came and went too quickly for Michelle to tuck them into memory. Tėtis never forgot anything, but Michelle forgot _lots_ of things. Supposedly, that was part of growing up, because growing up sucked and had absolutely no benefits that Michelle could see. Except maybe getting to drive yourself to the ice cream store.

“You didn’t used to keep so many secrets from me,” Tėtis said softly. Michelle stared down at the keys and tried to remember a time when things were easy, when words flowed from her faster than she could think them up, and she would trip and stumble over her stories, but Tėtis listened anyway. Tėtis always listened.

“He said he was the new boyfriend,” Michelle said, the first of many thoughts that bounced through her head and made her ache.

“Will has not replaced us,” Tėtis assured her, “He acquired an admirer who did not know when to step back. Nothing that man said to you was the truth.”

Michelle knew that. Of course she knew that. If he was lying about Will sending him, he had to be lying about everything else. It was just that… Well… There was a difference between _knowing_ something and having it be confirmed by someone like Tėtis, who knew just about _everything_. That was all.

Michelle fidgeted on the bench. Her feet didn’t reach the floor, not like this, and she swung them back and forth, careful not to kick the harpsichord. Harpsichord was a big word, a good word. All the best words were big. ‘Harpsichord,’ and ‘lackadaisical,’ and ‘substantial.’

‘Accountability.’

“I let him in,” Michelle told the floor, because it was easier than telling Tėtis. And this was yet another thing that Tėtis already knew, but it was different coming from her mouth, ripping out of her chest.

“You did,” Tėtis agreed, “You put faith in him because he had done you a kindness.”

Michelle put faith in him, and he had tried to murder her Tėtis. She kicked out a little harder. Tėtis placed a hand on her calf, stilling her.

“I trusted him,” She said, and her voice broke. Her face was wet. She couldn’t remember when she’d started crying.

“Trust is a tricky thing,” Tėtis told her. “It can feel good, to trust someone. It can also leave us open to vulnerability.”

“Do you trust Will?” Michelle looked up at him, and her heart thudded, thump thump thump, in her chest. Tėtis smiled. It was not ‘happiness.’

“I trust that Will still has much to show us,” Tėtis said, and it was not an answer. Michelle did not ask again.

\-----

Jack Crawford walked with purposeful, heavy steps. Will didn’t grant him the intimidated look he so clearly craved. He watched him from his metal cage with one eyebrow raised, curious.

“Earlier this week,” Jack said, when he finally came to stand in front of Will, “An orderly from this hospital attacked and shot Dr. Lecter in his own home, before fleeing the scene.”

Matthew Brown had not shown up to Will’s cell in several days. Will had expected him of something troublesome, but whatever he had expected, it had not been this. Matthew had been waiting on a signal, and Will, as far as he knew, had not given one.

Will felt several things at once. First, a growing, sinking dread. This lingered in his chest, thick and black as tar, dragging down each breath. And, beneath that, an undercurrent of vicious, horrifying glee. Then, shame, guilt.

Concern.

Concern for Hannibal Lecter. Concern for the Chesapeake Ripper. Concern for his lover, Michelle’s Tėtis. A moment of overwhelming, drowning, *fear*.

Will wasn’t sure which of these warring emotions showed on his face, but whatever it was, it surprised Jack. He faltered, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Looked Will in the face, curious and uncertain.

“Is he alive?” Will couldn’t hold back the question, even if he wanted to. It had been a sour, screaming thing in his mouth, more need than want. For a moment, Jack let him wait for it. Will wasn’t sure which answer he wanted.

“He was struck in the abdomen. He had surgery to remove the bullet and has already checked himself out of the hospital.”

Relief, thick and cloying, flooded Will’s senses. He staggered, leaning forward against the bars. Until this very moment, he hadn’t realized how much of him still sang for Hannibal, for the man Will had believed him to be. It nauseated him.

He’d thrown Jack off-kilter again. He eyed Will warily, a flicker of disbelief written across his skin.

“And you knew nothing about this.”

Will glanced up with a frown, waving vaguely at the echoing room around them. “Oh, you know. With all my hobbies, I haven’t had time to read the papers.”

There we go, there was Jack’s stubborn glare. Will was not surprised to have blame levered at himself. He wasn’t even irritated, at this point. What was one more thing he didn’t do? Why not carry that guilt as well, another cross against his back?

“We believe this is the same man who killed the bailiff and the judge at your trial,” Jack told him.

“Just the bailiff. The Chesapeake Ripper killed the judge.”

“And you, of course, just happen to know this.”

“He told me,” Will said, straightening up. “He liked to brag. Chatty for an orderly. Usually they ignore me.”

“And you didn’t report this?”

Once more, Will spread his arms wide. “You have a history of doubting things when I don’t hand you the evidence on a silver platter.”

“This isn’t about Hannibal- “

Will rolled his eyes, “I believe we’ve already established that this is _entirely_ about Hannibal. He did get shot, didn’t he?”

“You’re shockingly stoic for a man whose lover just survived an attempt on his life.”

“ _Ex_ -lover,” Will reminded him, a flush across his cheeks. It was both embarrassment and irritation; had Jack missed his momentary stumble against the bars? Or was he merely dismissing it because it didn’t suit his narrative. “And the keyword there is ‘survived.’ Make your point, Jack.”

“You were frequently alone with this Matthew Brown. The cameras would mysteriously shut off.”

“Those _pesky_ electronics,” Will mused, “Nudge a cord too roughly and it fails entirely. Make. Your. _Point_.”

Jack took a step closer. Perhaps he thought he could still intimidate Will, but Will had long since lost the need to assuage Jack’s ill temper.

“You’ve been very vocal about your distrust of Hannibal. A little whisper into the ear of a man who’d already proven to be unstable…”

“I’d proven to be unstable when you hired me,” Will reminded him, “At least according to Alana Bloom. Instability is not a crime, Jack.”

“But murder _is_ ,” Jack said, loud and booming in the cavernous room, “Including by proxy.”

Will leaned back, arms folded across his chest. “Nothing I said made this happen.”

“Then what did?”

Will let a small smile creep across his face. “Instability,” He said, with a small shrug. “Perhaps he was looking to prove himself. He admired the Ripper.”

“He admired _you_.”

“He admired _the Ripper,_ ” Will stressed again, louder this time, the better to be heard over the rage that emanated from Jack. “What form that admiration took was beyond me to stop. Or to encourage.”

“Hannibal Lecter has no _motive_ ,” Jack said, not for the first time.

“The Ripper kills in sounders of three or four. Quick, right after the other, and do you know why, Jack?” Will leaned forward, draping his arms through the bars of his cage. “Because if he waits too long,” He hissed, “The meat spoils.”

Beverly had not passed on this particular tidbit. Will had known she wouldn’t, skeptical as she had been. He could see Jack’s jaw working, chewing over the thought in a near-literal sense. He could see the initial wave of disgust, too quick for Jack to beat it down with doubt. He’d be remembering every meal he ate at Hannibal’s table. Just as Will had.

“If the Ripper’s killing,” Will told him, little more than a whisper, “You can bet Hannibal Lecter’s planning a dinner party.”

\-----  
Michelle was watching Alana with wary, suspicious eyes. Hannibal had tried to shoo her towards the family room, but even the suggestion of one of her craft kits had failed to deter her desire to ‘help.’ It was, evidently, more of a desire to ‘supervise.’ She said little, and stayed at the stool Hannibal had given her, rolling balls of cookie dough for dessert. Yet, every time Alana stepped within touching distance, Michelle’s entire body would stiffen up, and her hands would still over the dough, watchful. Wary. They would have to discuss things later; Michelle needed to understand that social connections could only be good for them at this point.

“Heart’s an interesting choice,” Alana mused, “Will Michelle eat it?”

“If seasoned properly, she may taste,” Hannibal told her, “But I’ll likely be frying cheese sandwiches in a skillet later.”

“Promise you’ll share?” Alana called across the room. Michelle stared at her for a long moment before giving a small, sharp nod. The corners of Alana’s mouth turned down, and she turned back to whisper to Hannibal.

“I don’t think she enjoyed our little sleepover. I did all the fun babysitter things! Popcorn, too much television, cookie dough, late bedtimes. I thought she was just worried about you, but she’s still so stiff around me.”

“Children are fickle things. Whatever offense Michelle has latched onto, she’ll forget it soon enough.” Children were fickle, but Michelle never forgot anything. Alana, however, did not know that, and she seemed marginally cheerier by the time he handed her several skewers.

“Skewered heart,” Alana murmured. Her lips quirked up into a smile, but there was nothing pleasant about the way her hands trembled, ever so slightly. “Haven’t we had enough of that?”

“It’s a thematic dish,” Hannibal agreed, “My heart certainly feels skewered.”

Alana pierced through another chunk of meat. “He told me he loved you,” She admitted in a whisper, eyes flicking over towards Michelle. “In the hospital, when he was first diagnosed with the encephalitis.”

Hannibal had suspected that Will had said something, given the way Alana danced around Hannibal with a steadily growing nervousness, but to hear it confirmed set a small flutter through his chest. Will had a way of awakening things that Hannibal had long imagined to be dead. “You are a member of a very exclusive club, then,” He said, “Will said it to me once, but he was in the middle of a very stressful episode at the time. He never repeated it. I had assumed it was the stress talking.”

Alana stared down at the meat in her hands. The faint tremor that gave away her trepidation was spreading upwards. “I know what you said,” She whispered, “I _know_. But I also know what I’ve seen of Will, since he was arrested. He’s not the man he was before.”

It was interesting, how people fell into place so easily, even when Hannibal was no longer attempting to prod them. “Are any of us who we were before?” Hannibal asked, placing a gentle hand over her own.

Alana blinked up at him, eyes filled with tears. For a moment, Hannibal thought she might try to kiss him again.

Then, behind him, Michelle accidentally knocked the bowl of cookie dough to the floor. It skittered across the tile, loud and echoing enough that Michelle let out a distressed moan. The moment ended.

\-----  
Will could hear the steady click-click of shoes on the harsh concrete floor. You could set your watch by the guards. He supposed that was good for people who were actually crazy. Well, people who were crazy _and_ who weren’t Abel Gideon.

“I’m told,” Gideon began, and Will could hear the heavy smirk that must have lingered around his mouth, “That I have _you_ to thank for my safe return to these hallowed halls.”

“Don’t thank me for signing your death warrant,” Will warned.

“I’m safe in here, Mr. Graham. Safe from myself. Safe from the Ripper. Can’t get to me through all the locks.”

“There’s nowhere you’re safe, Gideon. Your number was up the second they stuck you in the cell next to mine.” Will tilted his head back, counting smudges and cracks along his ceiling. “Everyone who gets too close gets got.”

“We have that in common, the Ripper and I.” Gideon shaped sentences like the mouth of a shark, sharp-edged and aimed to cut. Will imagined the shudder that would likely ripple down Chilton’s spine when he sat down to listen.

“You kill anyone who steps too close to you. The Ripper kills anyone who steps too close to _me_.”

“A jealous god, your killer.”

Will smiled into the empty room. “Careful, you’ll flatter him.”

“That can only help me now, if he’s as eager for blood as you say.”

“Dr. Lecter is always eager for blood.”

A slow, steady intake of breath. Neither of them insulted each other by acting surprised.

“And we get to the very heart of the matter, at last. Tell me, were you disappointed when your attempt failed?”

Will closed his eyes and tried to sooth the rolling turmoil in his gut. “I didn’t send that man to kill Hannibal.”

“And yet, without you, he never would have gone. Funny how little differences our intentions make, in the end.”

“Were you disappointed, when you killed your wife?” Will shot back.

“I was disappointed I could only do it once,” Gideon whispered, a sliver of ice, of the darkness he leaked from his very pores. “And yes, disappointed that it had to happen at all. She was a lovely, obnoxious little thing. You know the type. Feisty on a good day, shrill on a bad one. I miss her more each day.”

Will picked the sentences apart for the hints he knew were there and let out a low chuckle. “But you’d do it again.”

“Oh absolutely. Slower, given the chance. She’s much more beautiful in memory than she was in life. But you didn’t bring me here to talk about my wife.”

“I brought you here to bear witness.”

“To tell you I sat in Dr. Lecter’s cobalt blue dining room. An ostentatious herb garden with Leda and the Swan over the fireplace and you having a fit in the corner. His tiny little blonde thing staring up at all of us with dark eyes wide as saucers and absolutely no surprise on her face. That’s where I asked him if he was the Chesapeake Ripper, and _he_ avoided the question and suggested I kill Alana Bloom.”

Gideon’s words faded beneath the roaring in Will’s ears. He’d remembered bits and pieces before then. A twisting Jekyll/Hyde shape, Hobbs and Gideon at the head of the table, Hannibal’s rough, calloused hands against the soft skin of his face. Michelle, he had known, had to have been there, somewhere. He remembered her for certain when he awoke, her little body curled up atop his, clinging.

But now, the room twisted. The sink, the cot, they slithered from his vision like snakes, and he was suddenly looking down at big brown eyes.

“Will,” Michelle whispered to him, lips red and splattered with blood, “Will, there’s nobody there.”

She whispered it in between the beating of Will’s own heart, and he saw now, saw the way her fingers twitched as she lied to him.

He was hurt, but more so he was hurt by _Hannibal_ , yet again. Hannibal sitting back and encouraging Michelle in her knife-sharp broken edges. And so unbearably, violently angry at the thought of Gideon’s eyes on her, at the thought of her standing there, feet from a man who’d decorated the world with a smattering of organs on a whim.

If Hannibal didn’t eat Gideon, Will might consider it.

“Tell Jack Crawford that,” Will hissed, “Tell him every single word.” And maybe then, perhaps, Jack might think of something other than his own bloodthirst. Might think of _Michelle_ and the creeping tendrils that were dragging her down.

“I’ll tell Jack Crawford anything you want, if _you_ tell me why Dr. Lecter did it?”

Why did Dr. Lecter do anything? “He wanted to see what would happen.”

And later, when Gideon had failed him, as Will suspected he would, when he looked Jack in the eyes and lied, Will would know it was more of Gideon’s mimicry, of the way he mirrored everyone, lacking his own sense of self. A parrot, hopping from branch to branch to find meaning. Throwing Will under the bus, all because he _wanted to see what would happen_.

\-----  
“I feel like I’ve been watching our friendship on a split screen,” Hannibal whispered. Will looked stiff, uncomfortable. He had never been one for eye contact, but now his gaze danced somewhere around Hannibal’s tie, the sharp lines of his suit. Hannibal wanted those eyes on him more than he’d wanted anything else for a long time. He burned with the need. “The friendship I’ve perceived on one side, and the truth on the other.”

“Terrible feeling, isn’t it?” Will growled at him, but he fidgeted as well, fingers twisting around the bars. Hannibal saw more of Michelle in him every time they spoke, more of the ways they’d begun to bleed into each other. He immortalized each and every one of those moments into his memory palace, into the room he’d built for the two of them to share, for all the ways she was their daughter together, all the ways she drew her development from Will.

In his memory palace, Will held Michelle, balanced on his hip, and Hannibal was free of regret.

“You understand your role in Beverly’s disappearance, don’t you?”

Will snarled. His lips drew back over sharp teeth that Hannibal had memorized, that he imagined imprinted against the arch of his neck. “Have you come here to lay blood at my feet? I’m afraid you’ll have to wait in line.”

“She disappeared while investigating the crimes which you are accused of,” Hannibal said, as if he was not off-kilter just from the fire that fueled Will’s rage, that flooded vivid blue eyes with venom, “At _your_ behest. You must be as angry with yourself as you are with whoever took her.”

“ _Took_ ,” Will spat, and Hannibal allowed himself a moment of glee, of the excitement that came with being the smartest person in the room, even if Will chased at his tail the whole way up the ladder, “As if we both don’t know what’s happened to her. And believe me, I am singularly angry with whoever took her.”

“It seems you’re leaving a trail of victims wherever you go,” Hannibal mused. He shifted and allowed himself to wince at the pain. He could see a hint of something in Will’s eyes, something mournful and longing. Good. Whatever he’d left within Will, it still lingered. Will’s sense of betrayal had not yet burned it out of him.

“If you’ve come seeking an apology, I’m afraid you’ve found the wrong man The guards forget we’re sane enough to have ears. They like to gossip. I heard they sighted Matthew Brown down in North Carolina, last.”

Yes, Hannibal had heard the same news. It had brought a smile to Abigail’s face, the barest hint of a giggle. The rush of getting away with something had done a great deal to ease her fears.

“I almost expected better of you,” Will continued, and the spark of longing became a wave of disappointment that, to Hannibal, could not have been entirely feigned. “I didn’t send that man to your doorstep, Hannibal. I’d have given him a better plan if I had.”

“One that would not have risked Michelle,” Hannibal agreed, just to see Will flinch. “She’s been having nightmares about it. About the things Mr. Brown claimed about you.”

Will startled badly enough to smack his hand against the bars, leaning as far towards Hannibal as his cage would allow. “I would _never_ have sent him anywhere near her,” He vowed, with more emotion than any of the artifice he’d so far displayed.

“I know,” Hannibal assured him, “And yet, through my association with you, he found her. In his desire to protect you, he very nearly shattered her.”

Hannibal let that sink in, let the thought of Michelle wring guilt through Will’s body. There was, if he was honest with himself, a hint of truth to the betrayal he portrayed. It had not been Will’s idea, not his fault, but neither had Matthew Brown hunted Hannibal down of his own accord.

Hannibal had been trying. He had tried luring Will back to him with kindness, with the gift of his testimony and then of the judge’s body when that failed. Now, he would have to try something new. If he was lucky, perhaps he could get Will to miss him.

And, if that failed, he could always apologize after the trap he was laying had been sprung.

“I have to look out for my daughter, Will. And for myself. I wonder how many other people will be hurt by the anger you carry with you.”

Hannibal saw his words hit home with painful precision. Will made an abortive motion, a hand jerking out as if to reach for Hannibal. It was surprisingly painful to witness.

“Hannibal- “

“I’ll give Alana Bloom your best. Goodbye, Will.”

Perhaps Will growled behind him. Perhaps Hannibal only imagined the crackle of jealousy.

He would carry the sound with him anyway.

\-----  
The party was loud loud loud. Michelle hated it.

Abigail was long gone, along with Miss Beverly, off to the quiet house by the sea. Michelle tucked herself under a table and tried to remember the crash of the waves, over and over, a rhythm of safety. Before she’d left, she’d braided Michelle’s hair and smeared a sticky pink shine over her lips. Michelle had liked the way it looked, but not the way it felt. She’d licked it off hours ago, before the first guest even arrived.

The people whispered and laughed and shouted. The musicians played on and on in her head. Michelle laid herself out on the ground under the table and watched people’s feet go by. She was hungry. She’d had a long cylindrical bit of rolled meat that she’d liked, but the funny bird leg things had made her nauseous. She knew, if she asked, that Tėtis or Dr. Bloom, would grab her a dessert or maybe even a sandwich, but then everyone would know she was a little little little kid who couldn’t even handle a dinner party.

Mr. Crawford had shiny shoes and a big booming voice. Michelle liked the shoes more. They reflected the light as he came to talk to Tėtis. Tėtis’s shoes had a lace that was starting to come untied. It would bother him, if he knew, but Michelle couldn’t make herself move to tell him. Her body felt heavy, too big and too small all at once.

Mr. Crawford wanted to take some of the food home. It set off warning bells in Michelle’s head, though she couldn’t quite remember why. It seemed rude, somehow, to come all the way here and then steal their food. He hadn’t even said hi to her. Michelle had wanted to ask about Bella Bella Bella.

Mr. Crawford’s shoes squeaked against the tile. Michelle watched him go and counted his steps and wondered why Tėtis hadn’t moved yet, why his shoes were so still, just watching Mr. Crawford leave. Her thoughts went round and round and round, until she had to close her eyes under the weight of them.

Tėtis found her still under the table, after the party had ended, fast asleep.

\-----  
Michelle woke to the sound of the door, the thunk thunk thunk of Tėtis’s feet on the stairs. She was in her own bed, big and empty without Abigail. She was thirsty, and more than that, she was curious. Down the hall, to the top of the stairs, lingering, listening.

“Where were you, last night?” Jack Crawford was big and booming, too loud for the early hour.

“I was here.” Tėtis, calm and steady like always.

“All night?”

“Yes.”

“And I don’t suppose there’s anyone above the age of 8 who can verify that?” Michelle stiffened, straightening up. She knew it was offensive, even if she couldn’t put into words _why_.

Before she could say anything, though, Dr. Bloom passed by with a gentle touch to her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Dr. Bloom whispered as she headed down the stairs, “I’ll take care of it.”

Dr. Bloom was wearing Tėtis’s shirt. Michelle watched her go with a heavy, unspeakable thing blossoming in her chest.

\-----  
Alana had been easy, too easy. He hadn’t needed to ply her with wine, they had plied each other. Tucked into bed, wrapped around each other, the sedative in Alana’s drink slowly overtaking her.

“We shouldn’t,” She’d whispered against his mouth, “Your daughter is… Is just down the hall.”

“Sound asleep,” Hannibal had assured her, trailing kisses down her throat to emphasize his point.

“We’ll get a babysitter,” Alana had promised, “Next time. Will there be a next time?”

Hannibal had cupped the soft curve of her hip in his hands and whispered promises into her ears. She’d drifted off with one hand pressed to his chest and the other trailing circles over his hipbone.

She was a beautiful woman, and intelligent. If need be, Hannibal would have no trouble slipping into and out of intimacy with her. But he was glad it hadn’t come to that, if only to ensure she successfully drank the sedative. Besides that, he’d had a busy night, and it wouldn’t have done to have been worn out when the time came to carry Abel Gideon into the basement.

Jack was right on schedule, although Hannibal had hoped to have another hour to sleep in. Sleep was very important, when one was a parent.

Alana, likewise, was perfectly timed, as if Hannibal had nudged her into the room himself. She stared Jack down with narrowed eyes and a tight frown. Jack held his hands up, as if waving off the truth of his own actions.

“I’m not here to accuse Hannibal of anything. Only to ask him his whereabouts.”

“That’s not all you were asking.”

Hannibal had known, of course, that the time would eventually come when Will’s prodding was too much for Jack to ignore. His Will was a clever beast, coercive and deadly in equal measures. He had spent too long laying a trail to Hannibal’s door for Jack to put it off forever. It was why Hannibal had tucked his more intriguing meats away, for the time being, and served pork at the dinner party.

Jack’s song and dance with the Tupperware had only confirmed Hannibal’s suspicions. Honestly, it was a wonder anyone at the FBI got anything done, if they were all as obvious as Jack had been.

Jack beat a hasty retreat after Alana confronted him, a wary smile lingering over his features. If he’d hoped to lull Hannibal back under his sway, it was clear from his expression that he understood his own failure.

“A census taker would have been better,” Alana mused once he was gone, calling back Hannibal’s words from the bedroom.

“Certainly less stressful,” Hannibal agreed. Alana chuckled and crossed the room, caressing his face with a soft palm.

“I don’t suppose you have an appetite, after that? Michelle’s up, I make some awesome Mickey Mouse pancakes.”

Hannibal was sure he must have been making an _interesting_ expression, but he was distracted by the way Alana leaned in, nuzzling against his cheek. She really was a bright light in the world, sweet and fiercely defensive. In another timeline, perhaps. But in this timeline, there was Will, and the strange sound of dragging from above, and…

With a clamorous series of clanking thuds, the upper half of the samurai armor from Hannibal’s bedroom came crashing down the stairs. Alana yanked herself out of his arms with a startled gasp as they both hurried to the hallway for a better look.

The armor had been a gift from Lady Murasaki. It would have been too heavy for Michelle to move in its entirety, not to mention twice her size, but she’d managed the helmet and the chest plate, both of which laid in a crumpled heap in the middle of the hall. They’d dented themselves on the way down the stairs, crashing against each other and the hardwood floor. Despite Hannibal’s best efforts over the coming months, they would never be quite the same again.

Nor, it seemed, would his sweet little girl. Hannibal looked up to find himself the full bearer of Michelle’s darkened gaze. There was a fury in her that would have seemed horrifically uncanny on any other child, but Hannibal had witnessed a variety of unpleasant moods from Michelle. Her fists were clenched, little body trembling with the force of her emotions. As he watched, she drew in a few huge, gasping breaths, and then reached for her next projectile, a delicate vase from the hall outside her room.

“Michelle-“ She threw the vase before Hannibal could get another word out. He suspected she’d been aiming for his head, given her gaze. Backed with all the strength of a young child, however, it shattered into pieces a few feet from Alana’s position instead. With a shaking, shuddering intake of breath, Michelle turned and fled down the hall. Hannibal could hear a lock click behind her.

“Well…” Alana said slowly, “That could have gone better.”

“Indeed.”

\-----  
“Michelle.” Tėtis rapped on her door for the fourth time in as many minutes. Michelle glared and gave it a kick. “Michelle,” He reprimanded, “You know I have a key.”

“Then go get it,” Michelle told him, delivering another swift kick to the heavy wood. Her feet ached, but it was worth it to imagine the frown Tėtis would be making.

“I am attempting to respect your privacy and independence,” Tėtis said, in his stiff other-people voice. Michelle wanted to rip it from his throat. She imagined the voice box as a literal box, something she could open and tear to pieces and replace with only the Good Things. “You are making it difficult,” Tėtis continued.”

“I’m not letting you in to yell at me.”

“I wasn’t going to yell at you.”

Michelle eyed the doorway suspiciously. Tėtis had never lied to her yet, but he’d also never invited some not-Will person into their lives. Or anyone into their lives, without asking her first. Michelle had picked Nina, she had picked Will and Abigail. Dr. Bloom, as far as Michelle could tell, had picked herself. And she could go _un_ pick herself, in Michelle’s opinion.

“Michelle,” Tėtis said, soft and gentle, “Dr. Bloom has gone home. Abigail will not be back until nightfall. It’s just the two of us. Open the door.”

It _was_ just the two of them, and that was the problem. It should have been the four of them, Tėtis and Will and Abigail and Michelle. Maybe Will’s dogs, if they were lucky. But they didn’t have that, they didn’t have any of that, because Tėtis was _stupid_ and he made _stupid_ choices and had _stupid_ decorations. They looked better broken.

Michelle said as much to the door and enjoyed the deep sigh that came from beyond it. “It would be much easier to discuss this face-to-face, Michelle. Please.”

It was the ‘please’ that threw her. Tėtis was always polite, of course, but he didn’t beg or plead or cajole. He asked, and you either did the thing, or you didn’t.

He was pleading now, though, or at least, she thought he must be. Tones were so weird. People’s voices went up or down or left or right and you had to figure out what that meant, how that changed the words they said.

But at least it very definitely wasn’t sarcasm. Michelle opened the door and let Tėtis in.

He didn’t touch her, at least. He sat on the edge of her bed, and she sat on the fluffy green rug, and they stared at each other.

“You’re not typically destructive,” Tėtis finally said. Michelle shrugged.

“You broke something I like, I broke something you like.”

“Do you think I’ve broken Will?”

The question made her uncomfortable. It reminded her of bad dreams, of Will shaking in the dining room, shaking and sweating and seeing dead men. Of lying, because Will was sick and would believe her. “I think you might.”

“But I haven’t yet,” Tėtis said gently. “Will’s a strong man. It would take a lot more than me to break him.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Michelle said, angry and shaking with it. “It’s easy to break somebody who trusts you.”

Tėtis stared at her for a long moment. “That’s an astute observation for someone your size,” He finally said. Michelle stuck her tongue out at him.

“The doctor said it wasn’t my fault I was so little.”

“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” Tėtis said, and smiled like they were joking. Michelle wasn’t joking. She’d never found anything less funny in her entire life.

“Everything’s ruined,” She said. The tears wouldn’t come, but they were strangling her. “Abigail can’t go outside, and Will is in prison and everything is _ruined,_ and I hate it, I hate everything, and I hate your stupid samurai suit and I wish I’d thrown the whole thing down the stairs.”

“Everything is going to change,” Tėtis promised, and Michelle did not believe him.

“Everything already changed!” She yelled. “You can’t have Dr. Bloom, you _can’t_. I don’t want her here, and I’ll throw everything we have down the stairs if you bring her here. I hate her, I hate her, and I hate your stuff and I hate _you_ \- “

“Michelle!”

Tėtis’s voice snapped through her, too loud, too stern. His face had gone narrow, closed-off and displeased. Michelle withered under that gaze.

“Dr. Bloom served a purpose,” He said slowly, “A purpose I may need her for again. But she does not and _cannot_ replace Will. Will belongs here, with us, and I will bring him back to us one day. But I need you to trust me first.”

“Oh,” Michelle said, soft, uncertain. Of course it was a plan, a game. A fake truth to protect the real truth. But it still sat uneasy in her stomach. “Oh.”

“But,” Tėtis said, and his voice when very stern, “ _You_ do not get to force my hand when something happens that you don’t like. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Tėtis,” Michelle mumbled.

“I won’t have this conversation with you again, Michelle.”

Michelle turned her face away. “I’m hungry,” She mumbled. Tėtis sighed.

“Well, before we eat, there’s still the matter of the mess in the hallway.”

\-----

Everything was falling neatly into place. Somewhere, Jack’s little group was digging deeper into the trail of breadcrumbs Hannibal had left them.

Here, in the dining room, Michelle and Abel Gideon were staring each other down.

“Do you frequently invite your daughter to dine with murderers?” Gideon mused. Michelle bristled, straightening up in her seat.

“We invited _you_ ,” She protested. “Not me. I live here.” She turned to Hannibal with a pout. “Tėtis! Tell him he’s a guest.”

“She does have a point,” Hannibal mused, laying the tray out. Michelle brightened at the sight of clay leaves and flowers. “And we should be polite to our guests, shouldn’t we Michelle?”

Michelle flushed, but only for a moment. There was too much excitement for her to properly behave. Hannibal was unsure if she’d put two and two together for their previous meals, but she’d been pushing to participate more, and she was well aware of what had gone into this feast. It flooded her with a raw excitement that was dizzying to watch, and a nervousness that was flooding the room with its scent. “Sorry, Mr. Gideon,” She mumbled, but then the eager rush overtook her again. She jabbed a finger against the cooling clay, grinning at Gideon as she pointed out a lopsided, clumsy daisy. “I made _that_ one.” She said proudly.

“It’s lovely,” Gideon assured her, with a sort of amused fascination. He glanced from Michelle to Hannibal. “Apples and trees, I suppose?”

“Of course,” Hannibal agreed cheerfully. He was in a good mood tonight. He would have a fresh meal in his stomach and soon, the dinner table would have more pleasant company. He picked up the hammer and paused for a second, two.

“Can I do it?” Right on cue, Michelle climbed up onto her knees and leaned over the table, making grabbing motions towards the hammer.

“Of course,” Hannibal said again, “But perhaps you could do so as an adult would?”

Michelle flushed again, scrambling down from her seat and around the table. She skirted Gideon as she did it, no longer afraid of him now that he’d been hobbled, now that Will was not shivering and suffering across the room.

Michelle was overeager in this as she was in everything, but it was worth it for the wince that flickered across Gideon’s face as she smashed the hammer down. The clay shattered, releasing the delicious scent into the room. Michelle frowned, leaning forward to sniff at the opening she’d made.

“It doesn’t _smell_ like leg,” She complained. Gideon let out a strange, slightly strangled laugh.

“What,” he muttered, once he’d regained his composure, “What exactly does ‘leg’ smell like.”

Michelle frowned and thought it over as Hannibal served up their portions. “I dunno. Not that.” She took her seat again, and for a moment, she and Gideon were lost in the same hesitation, staring at their plates. Hannibal would not be at all disappointed if she chose not to partake, but there was no reason to say anything that might sway her decision. He had no such compunctions of his own and took a bite while he watched his companions debate with themselves.

It was delicious, as he’d known it would be. Perfect, despite Michelle’s little mishap with the salt grinder. Beside him, Gideon poked distrustfully at the meat.

“How does one politely refuse a dish in circumstances such as these?”

“One doesn’t.” It came from Michelle, surprisingly, though she too was merely staring at her food. She said it with such firm conviction, however, that Hannibal gave her a pleased little smile. Her temper lately had left much to be desired, but it seemed not all that Hannibal tried to impart had left her.

“Well, if the lady of the house insists,” Gideon drawled. It still took him another long moment. His hand was slow as it lifted the fork, and when he took the bite, he did it with bated breath and closed eyes.

Hannibal and Michelle both watched, intent.

“Delicious,” Gideon finally said, with a peak towards Michelle.

Michelle burst into a fit of giggles. “Yuck,” She said, stifling it into her hand as if that might mitigate the rudeness. When Hannibal turned to her, one eyebrow raised, she was helpless to her laughter once more.

“That’s his _leg_ ,” She explained, as if Hannibal had not guided her through preparing it. “He ate his _leg_.”

“He did,” Hannibal agreed, “As did I.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. It’s not _your_ leg. It’s just meat.”

Hannibal watched her closely, the light that danced in her eyes, the confused but eager mirth that radiated from her. A little prodding, surely, would be acceptable. “It’s not yours either,” He reminded her. She looked down at her plate, as if surprised to see it there.

“It’s not,” She said, soft, a little shy. And then she took a bite.

\-----  
The phone rang in between appointments. Hannibal saw the name and answered it with a smile and a measure of concern pressed carefully into his words. “Hello, Alana?”

A pause, a breath. A broken little sob.

“Will is coming home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking _finally._ He's out of prison! Back to murder family shenanigans.
> 
> I don't have much to say this time around because I was incredibly frustrated with these idiots and Hannibal in particular. He insisted on being mad at Will despite knowing that Will didn't send Matthew Brown after him, and I just wanted him to shut up. 
> 
> But it's okay! Stuff is coming! Hannigram interaction! Shelly seeing Will again without bars!
> 
> Shelly having an absolute tantrum is my favorite thing. And she technically got away with it because Hannibal figured it was out of character enough that he could just tell her to stop. Hannibal is digging himself a hole because Shelly has been steadily escalating through this whole series. 
> 
> But somebody threw a vase at Hannibal's head for the Hannibloom fiasco, so I am happy.
> 
> ugh idk these aren't my usual rambles. I'm not feeling the rambles today. But if you have any questions, ask away!
> 
> Tumblr imploded since we last spoke, so feel free to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stratumgermani1), where I will continue to answer questions and post progress updates.


	6. APRIL FOOLS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally uploaded on 4/1/19 as part of the April Fool's Fic Swap, linked in the end notes.

Michelle was vibrating in her seat as the Bentley pulled into the spot. She had waited a lifetime for this moment, or eight months, which honestly still felt like a lifetime. 

Her Will was finally coming home. Slowly, piece by piece her family was finally coming back together. Tėtis said he had a plan, but she hated his plan. Any plan that involved denying her her Will was a terrible plan, and she was determined to keep Will this time.

The room was empty when they entered. It was dim, and cold, and she shifted uncomfortably by tėtis’s side. This was taking entirely too long. When tėtis picked her up from school and told her they were going to bring Will home today, she had imagined a much warmer scene. A touching reunion like in the movies. One where Will was be waiting for them outside, arms wide open for her to fall into. She didn’t like this waiting. It made her feel as if this was yet another lie, that they would pull Will away from her again.

When the doors across the empty hall finally screeched open, it took every ounce of willpower within her little body to not run across the room and throw herself at Will. The already firm hold tėtis had on her hand tightened when Will finally stepped across the threshold, and she could hear his sharp intake of breath.

Will was as beautiful as ever, and the smile he flashed her made her stomach flip and her heart flutter. It also made the thought of tėtis with Dr. Bloom all the more bitter. It doesn’t matter if it was part of a plan, a game. A fake truth to hide the real truth in tėtis’s crazy world. At the end of the day Will Graham was infinitely more beautiful than Dr. Bloom and why anyone would choose her over him made her brain hurt.

Tėtis let go of her hand when Will approached them, and Michelle, finally freed, closed the distance and threw herself on him before tėtis had a chance recapture her.

Will's embrace was everything she had dreamed it would be and more. It felt like coming home, and her eyes stung with tears as he held her with the same intensity in which she clung to him.

“I've missed you, sweetheart.”

“Never go away again,” she whimpered against him, “Tėtis makes bad choices when you're not home. Like invite Dr. Bloom over for sleepovers without asking me.”

“Never again,” Will assured her, smoothing down her hair, “I promise.”

“Good. Because I hate her and her stupid face and the way she wore tėtis’s shirt.”

Will’s body tensed against her. His heartbeat quickened and she couldn’t tell he was displeased or excited. Just in case he was upset, she wrapped her body more securely around him, locking her legs around his waist and burying her face into the crook of his neck.

Will smelled of sugar and spice, and everything nice, but something was wrong. He smelled different. He didn’t smell like  _ her _ Will. He was missing the smell of the woods, of fish and motor oil, of  _ dogs. _ Of course he didn’t smell of dogs. How could he? Dr. Bloom had the dogs now. Dr. Bloom and her stupid face with her stupid voice and her stupid clothes.

“I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we can have our own sleepover. Just the two of us. And we'll eat mac and cheese and go fishing and roll around with the dogs, and have hot chocolate under the stars.”

Michelle stilled, clinging tighter against him as she rubbed her face against him, nodding furiously. “Yes, please. Just the two of us. No tėtis. No Dr. Bloom.”

“Just the two of us,” Will repeated, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I promise.”

_____

Hannibal stood back and watched the happy reunion of the two people who held his heart in their hands. Never again, he promised himself. Never again would he tear this family apart. 

For the first time since Will’s incarceration Michelle finally looked at peace. Nestled in his arms, as if she had been crafted to fit there. It was almost painful to know that she had been at war with the world for all these months, but he had to do what was necessary to secure their future together. Even though this choice of his had almost cost him everything. His life, his daughter, his Will. 

The board is set now though. His Queen is back and the pawns are all in place. It should have been an easy checkmate, but unfortunately he could never entirely predict Michelle. He could love and nurture, train and guide her. Feed her and whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatched followed its own nature and was beyond him.

He could not control her actions or what spilled from her mouth any more than he could control the trajectory of a typhoon. His Michelle was a force of her own and a wonder to behold.

The corners of his mouth ticked upwards into a subtle grin, pride swelling in his heart. His beautiful Michelle, inadvertently fanning the flames which would draw his beloved Will back to him.

Hannibal drank in the glare Will leveled at him as he passed. Basked in the fire burning in Will's eyes. A fire he knew could only be extinguished by blood. A shiver ran down his spine as he considered the possibilities.

“Tėtis, tėtis,” Michelle said, head inclined toward him, while her little body wrapped securely around beloved Will. “Will and I are going to have a sleepover. We're going to play with the dogs and then he's going to show me all the stars, and teach me how to wayfind. You are not invited.”

Hannibal smiled and tucked a strand of stray hair back behind her ear, “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Michelle nodded enthusiastically, dislodging her hair again. “We must leave now, though. Wolf Trap is very far away.”

“Indeed it is.” Hannibal glanced over at Will, smiling warmly, only to be pointedly ignored. With one final glare, Will brushed by him and exited the room, Michelle giggling in his arms as the door slammed shut behind them.

_____

Michelle was giddy, grinning madly as she clamored into the car. Will had opted to take the spot next to her, and not the one in front with tėtis, like adults normally do. It made Michelle feel important, but it also meant that Will liked her more than tėtis. It made sense though, because right now, she too liked Will more than she liked tėtis.

Tėtis was being a big stupid head and making all the wrong choices. Michelle hated his choices. He shouldn't be allowed to make choices when they result in Will find to prison. And Abigail losing an ear. And hiding Miss Beverly away. And having sleepovers with Dr. Bloom. They were stupid choices. They should have just asked Will to stay. Will was supposed to stay. Will ease supposed to be her other daddy. 

Clicking the seatbelt in place, Michelle took a deep breath. It's going to be okay. Will is coming home now. She gets to have a sleepover with him. They get to eat mac and cheese and have hot chocolate as they watched the stars. Everything was going to be okay again.

“You know, dear Will,” tėtis said glancing over his shoulder at Will, shifting the car into reverse. “It's Thursday, you can't just whisk Michelle off to Wolf trap, she has school tomorrow.”

The smile fell from Michelle's face and she scowled at tėtis, but Will took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You know what, sweetheart,” Will said petting a hand through her hair, “your tėtis is right, we can't go right away, because you do have school tomorrow, and school is very important. But,” he added quickly before her displeasure bubbled up to the surface, “your tėtis will drop you off tomorrow, right after school. He'll make sure his schedule is clear to ensure that you'll get there by five.”

"And he's not going to stay is he?"

"No, of course not, it'll be just you and me. All weekend. And if he's not there by five, I'll come straight away to get you. Then we’ll fly away somewhere just the two of us until we feel like coming home again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

_____

Will pulled up to a dark and empty house. A far cry from the welcoming beacon of light it used to be. For so long, all he wanted was to be home. To be freed of Hannibal and all the emotions associated with that man. But try as he might, he still wanted him. Wanted to be at home with him. To be wrapped up in a man who was both the source of his insanity and clarity. To be surrounded by warmth, and love, and  _ family. _

He could deny it to the world, to himself, but he loved that man. He loved every part of that man, even the manipulative, cannibalistic, serial killing side.

Hannibal was terrible for him. He was dangerous. Deadly. A cancer that was certainly killing him, but they were conjoined now. Their cells have merged and there was no separating them. Being apart from him made him ache. Ache for his words, his touch, his smell, his taste.

Pouring himself half a glass of whiskey, Will sank into his chair. Mourning the life he used to have. The life he had built for himself. His quiet, lonely existence, filled with the warmth of his seven dogs. That life doesn't belong to him anymore. That life will never again be enough. 

Will wanted his dogs. He wanted to pretend for a night that nothing had changed, but Alana was busy, and couldn’t come by until tomorrow. Instead Will settled down in his chair, a glass of whiskey in hand and a lifetime of regret.

If he could, he would go back in time. Rewind a year or two, refuse to see Doctor Lecter, turn down Jack’s offer to borrow his imagination. He could still be whole. Empty, but whole.

He would never have know the love of a child. The the satisfaction of being full. The thrill of the kill. He would never know what it felt like to be loved unconditionally. To be taken apart piece by piece by skilled hands and an even sharper mind. The rush of power he felt when a life fades by his hands.

Downing the rest of his drink, he put his head back and closed his eyes. He let the stream flood his mind and tried to forget everything.

_____

Will was staring into a mug of lukewarm coffee when he heard the car pull up. It was three minutes to five and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was because Hannibal had taken his threat to heart or if it was the designs of a very persuasive eight year old. It was most likely the latter, although he wouldn't be surprised if Hannibal was wary of his threat. He would have done it, and Hannibal, well Hannibal would have allowed it. He knew he couldn't really have though. Not without Hannibal. Never without Hannibal, and he had a feeling the man also knew that.

Knocking back the rest of his coffee, Will waited in his chair, prolonging the inevitable as he heard the car door slam shut. He made no effort to move as he heard Michelle’s excited chittering and Hannibal’s quiet remarks just outside the window. He settled the mug down as the shuffling of feet came to a stop and the sharp rapt of Hannibal’s knuckles against his door reverberated around the room. Scrubbing his hands across his face and waited for the cacophony of barks that would not come, because his dogs were not there.

When the second knock came, a staccato of frenzied fists hitting the door, Will finally stood up. Steeling his nerves, he pulled the door open and immediately dropped his gaze to Michelle. 

“Hello gorgeous,” he said with a warm smile, taking her weekend bag from Hannibal’s hands as she rushed forward to embrace him. “Go say goodbye to your tėtis, he has a long drive ahead of him, and should probably leave as soon as possible if he wants to avoid the bulk of the traffic. But I think he’ll be screwed either way.”

Michelle released him immediately and directed her attention to Hannibal. He could hear Hannibal’s soft huff as he straighten out, undoubtedly directed toward him before addressing Michelle. He was annoyed that Hannibal had expected anything else. After everything that man has put him through over the past eight months. It was laughable that Hannibal expected him to just forgive him, to act as if nothing has changed between them.

The second Michelle released Hannibal, Will ushered her into the house, quickly closing the door behind him before Hannibal could get a word in. Grinning maniacally to himself, he pictured look of affront Hannibal must still be wearing. Suits him right, that bastard. 

Will was acutely aware of the fact that Hannibal stood there, staring at them through the window as tossed Michelle's bag onto a chair and he picked up her, spinning her around. It satisfied him immensely to know that he had just effectively slammed the door on the face of a cannibalistic serial killer known to abhorred rudeness. Then again, what was Hannibal going to do? Eat him? Will would like to see him try.

“Will, Will,” Michelle giggled from his arms, pulling him from his thoughts. “I have been practicing on the harpsichord with tėtis, wanna hear what I can do?”

“I'd love to, sweetheart,” he said, registering the purr of the Bentley's engine come to life.

_____

Michelle struck the keys again, harder, louder. The room was too quiet, too still. So she played as loud as she could to drown out the silence, the absence of the dogs. The dogs who were with Dr. Bloom. The dogs who should have been  _ here,  _ or at the very least at home with tėtis.

Michelle started the song again, attempting to hold her hands the way Will had shown her, but her fingers tripped over each other and she went back to playing with two fingers. Will wouldn’t mind, not that he could see anyway. He was busy preparing the chicken. They were going to have mac and cheese, chicken, and broccoli, tonight. Will was even going to let her microwave the mac and cheese herself. He told her that this was the good stuff. Much better than the box stuff and not pretentious like tėtis's fancy mac and cheese. Michelle was just glad that they were having mac and cheese.

Michelle smiled as she stretched her hand wide, in an attempt to bridge the two octaves, to bring her back to  _ do _ . Michelle found that she enjoyed playing for Will, mainly because it was nothing like playing for tėtis. Playing for Will was fun, not boring and tedious. Will didn't care that her hands weren't in the right positions, or that she would miss notes and mess up the tempo. Will just smiled and assured her that she was doing a great job and that she sounded wonderful.

When she was done showing him her repertoire, Will had taken over the keyboard and showed her how to play a couple of bars of Do-re-mi. Michelle liked the way Will taught. He sang the notes as he played them, and she really liked the way he sang. After a few rounds, Will had to excuse himself to start dinner, so Michelle kept practicing. She had just gotten up to Fa- a long, long way to run, when there was a knock at the door. 

“ _ Shhhhi-” _ Will hissed from the kitchen. “Michelle, sweetheart, could you get the door, I’ll be right there.”

Slipping off the bench Michelle eyed the door suspiciously. Who could Will have invited to their weekend alone? Just the two of us, meant just the two of them. Nobody else. Will had promised. Squinting at the window, Michelle caught a flash of Dr. Bloom’s dark hair and blue coat, leapt to her feet.

“You’re not welcome here!” Michelle screamed, ripping open the door, stamping her foot for good measure because tėtis wasn't there to reprimand her. “Will is  _ mine. _ You can't have him too, so just run back to tėtis and his stupid parties and boring sleepovers! Will promised it would be just the two of us this weekend so, GO AWAY!”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Dr. Bloom said with a smile that made Michelle want to throw up in her mouth, “Would it be okay if I just let the d-”

“Buster!” Michelle squealed excitedly, as the little Jack Russell pushed his way in through Dr. Bloom's legs. Anger forgotten, Michelle dropped to her knees and was lost to a flurry of limbs and doggy kisses.

Michelle giggled happily as the dogs swarmed her. Each and every one as excited to greet her as she was to see them. Her smile widened even more when she pretended they were at home. In the circle room with all the expensive rugs. Dog hair embedded in  _ all _ of tėtis’s things.

_____

In all honesty, Will should have been prepared for Alana. He knew she was coming over. She had said so last night. In reality, he was woefully unprepared to see her. He was excited to see his dogs again though. He missed his dogs. Like he missed Michelle. Like he pretended not to miss Hannibal. Alana though, he could probably have gone with never seeing her again, ever.

Wiping his hands on the kitchen towel he took a deep breath and stepped out into the living room. The quiet stillness of the space was now overrun by a cacophony of dogs, all barking excitedly and climbing all over Michelle. Winston’s head snapped up the moment Will crossed the threshold, he looked between Will and Michelle, pressing his nose into her hair before trotting over to Will. And just like that, Will found himself suddenly engulfed by his pack, surrounded by their unbridled joy. 

“Thank you for taking care of them,” he said, glancing up at Alana, his voice shaking and hands buried in fur.

“Of course,” she replied, taking a step forward, a reassuring smile plastered on her face. “It would have been ridiculous to have Hannibal take in your whole pack.”

Will turned away from her, fighting back a growl as he refocused his attention back onto his dogs. Who the fuck did she think she was? To even insinuate that Hannibal would not have jumped at the opportunity to take care of his pack. That Hannibal didn't at the very least owe him that much. How dare she imply that  _ she _ cared  _ more _ than his own fucking asshat of a boyfriend.

“Tėtis would have taken care of the dogs,” Michelle supplied from the floor, Buster still sprawled on top of her. Will's heart swelled with pride. At least someone was still in his corner. “You just offered to take them before he had a chance to make arrangements.”

_ Yeah, what she said. _ Will wanted to retort, but didn't because he was an adult. And as such, he opted instead to simply pretend she wasn't there. It was a good tactic. It had worked splendidly so far with Hannibal.

The dogs approved of his plan, lavishing him kisses and wet noses. And as angry as he was, Will found himself smiling, drinking in the unconditional love and attention his dogs bestowed upon him.

Running his hands through unfamiliar fur, he paused, taking in the new dog. “Hello there, pretty girl,” he said giving the dog a loving scratch under her chin. “Who are you?”

“She,” Alana said, dropping down next to him to give the dog an affectionate pat before affixing a lead to her collar, “is Applesauce. Because she likes applesauce. She’s mine, I rescued her.”

Applesauce woofed happily as the lead was attached, pulling out of Will's hands and toward the door, dragging Alana along. Following her lead, Will came to a stand and pulled open the door, stepping aside as the dogs all streamed out, with the exception of Winston who sat vigilantly by Michelle's side. 

“So,” he said acidically, closing the door firmly behind them. “I hear you had a sleepover with Hannibal.”

Alana froze. Every muscle in her body tensing as she turned to face him. He could see the guilt written on every line of her face, but it did nothing to abate his anger. 

“I'm sorry, Will.”

_ Fuck you.  _ He wanted to scream, but once again, he was a  fucking adult and could handle this conversation as such. “Are you though?” He asked instead. “Because it looks to me that you saw an opportunity to fuck my boyfriend and took it.”

“I… I didn't,” she stammered, mouth snapping shut abruptly when Will leveled her with a glare.

“Don't lie to me, Alana.”

“It just happened. We were both mourning you, Will.”

“Somehow, I highly doubt that.” 

Hannibal was a manipulative asshole. Hannibal killed and ate people. Hannibal framed him for murders and had him committed into the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, but Hannibal would  _ never _ choose Alana over him. Ever. Of this he was sure. Especially under his roof, in  _ their _ bed, with Michelle down the hall.

“I'm sorry, Will,” she tried again, blinking back tears, and the urge to slap her itched in his palms. “We were drunk, and there was the pressure of the dinner party, and… things just happened.”

“Cut the fucking bullshit, Alana,” Will hissed behind clenched teeth, nails biting so hard into his palms he could feel his skin threatening to break. “Hannibal is many things, but I do not for a second believe that he would be so out of control, at his own fucking dinner party that _ things just fucking happened.” _

“No, no, you're right.” Alana wiped furiously at the tears now streaming down her face. Applesauce pressed close against her legs, and for a split second Will felt sorry for her. “I just, he just…”

Her tears set him over the edge, and any amount of control he had left flew out the proverbial window. Fuck being an adult about this. “You just what? Tripped and fell on his cock?”

“WILL!” Alana screeched, and had the audacity to look offended. “It wasn't like that! We didn't...”

“Oh but you wanted to,” he snarled, letting the anger take over. “We were together, Alana. And  _ you, _ you don't even have excuse of  _ not knowing.” _

Alana dropped her head in shame. “I honestly didn't think you were ever getting out.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Alana.”

“It's not like that, Will. The odds were against you! You… you…”

“I what, Alana?”

“You tried to  _ kill _ Hannibal.”

“I  _ WHAT!?” _ Will screamed seeing red. If Michelle had not been inside with the dogs, Will was pretty sure he would have broken her pretty little neck and laid her body out for Hannibal to butcher. Alas, Michelle was in the house, and Will was still adult enough to not act upon his primal urges. “Get off my fucking property.”

“Will, please,” she begged.

“You  _ just _ insinuated that you believed that I was some serial killer, mentally unstable enough to be locked away at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally insane indefinitely.  _ And _ that I’m fucked up enough to send someone to kill  _ my boyfriend _ while my  _ daughter _ was in the fucking house.” Will took a step forward and Alana was at least smart enough to instinctively flinch back. “Get the fuck off my property if you know what's good for you.”

_____

Michelle scrambled down from the table by the window when she saw Dr. Bloom storm off toward her car, Applesauce close at her heels. Will continued to stand there for a moment, watching her leave, and when he turned toward the house even she could see that he was angry. And honestly, he had every right to be. Dr. Bloom had tried to insert herself into tėtis's life and take his place. Unforgivable. 

“Can we eat her leg?” Michelle asked the moment Will slammed the door shut.

“Excuse me?”

Will looked confused. And aggravated. Michelle didn’t understand why. Her request was quite reasonable. “Dr. Bloom,” she said clarified, “can we eat her leg?”

“There will be no leg eating, Missy,” Will said running a hand through his hair before dropping down into a chair. He exhaled slowly and pulled her onto his lap.

“But she kissed tėtis!” Michelle protested, squirming to break free, only to have Will tighten his arms around her. “And she’s not allowed to kiss tėtis! Tėtis is  _ yours! _ ”

Will huffed out a laugh and pressed a kiss to her head. “Fine, we can eat her pancreas.”

Michelle made a face. She didn't like pancreas. She's not sure she's had pancreas, but if it's anything like heart or liver or lung, she's sure she's not going to like it. 

“I don't like pancreas. Leg tastes better.”

Will stiffened. A series of emotions washed across his face, too quickly for her to register any of them. "Michelle, honey, what do you mean leg tastes better than pancreas?”

Michelle shrugged, picking at the hem of her sweater. "You would think leg would taste funny, like leg or something, but it really just tastes like pork. Pancreas on the other hand, would most likely taste like offal. And I don't like the taste of offal, no matter where it comes from.”

“You’ve eaten leg?”

“Yes, I just said that.”

“A  _ human _ leg?”

Michelle didn't know where Will was going with his questions. They didn't make a lot of sense. “Well not a whole leg, that would be crazy.”

“But a part of a  _ human  _ leg.”

“Yes?”

“And where did this leg come from?”

“The man in the basement. But it's okay!” Michelle added quickly when Will frowned. “He ate it too. And it was really good. Tėtis baked it in clay, and I got to help decorate it. He even let me break the clay when it was ready.”

Will took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Michelle wondered if she said something wrong.

“What man in the basement?”

Michelle could hear the exasperation in Will's voice. It made her nervous. “The scary one who I said wasn't there.”

The moment the words finished leaving her mouth Michelle  _ knew _ she had said something terribly wrong this time. Will’s face contorted into the expression she hated most. Her chest tightened up as the disappointment continued to wash over Will.

A broken sob escaped her when Will’s arms fell to his side, tears falling heavily from her eyes. She messed up, and now everything was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Will hated her now, because he knew she lied to him. Tėtis chose Dr. Bloom over Will, even if it was just for pretend. Her Nina was still dead and Abigail was so far away, hiding away at the cliff house. Her perfect family, which she had painstakingly pieced together was now falling apart and it was all her fault.

_____

“Oh, no, no, no,” Will said pulling Michelle tight against him, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I'm not angry with you, sweetheart. Never with you. That tėtis of yours though, I'm going to have to have a long conversation with him.”

“Don’t be mad at tėtis,” Michelle hiccuped. “He said he had a plan. It’s probably a stupid plan, but it’s tėtis’s plan, and tėtis’s plans always work out in the end.”

“I’m sure they do,” Will assured her. “I’m still going to have a long talk with your tėtis though. Especially regarding the feeding you of people.”

Michelle nodded enthusiastically against him, wiping her face on his shirt. “Yes please. He’s been feeding the snails that man’s leg too. And I just know he intends to make me eat the snails. I don't want to eat snails!”

“You don't have to eat anything you don't want to, sweetheart.”

“That's not what tėtis says.”

“Well, you  _ should _ listen to your tėtis, but I think in this particular matter, you don’t have to eat anything you don’t want to.”

“Good. Because I don't want to eat snails.”

“No snails for you, baby.” Will smiled tightly and smoothed down her hair. “Your tėtis is a ridiculous man.”

“Yea, but you love him anyway, right?”

“I…” Will stammered. The question blindsided him. He had spent the past eight months hating Hannibal. Suddenly he was dragged back into the woods. Onto a lonely highway in the pouring rain. Drenched and shivering against Hannibal's chest, sheltered from the storm. 

Will squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head as he clutched Michelle against him. He tried to push the memory from his mind, of lost time and gentle hands.

No.

Hannibal was wrong for him. Hannibal was manipulative and deceiving. Hannibal was a serial killer and a cannibal. Hannibal was love and utter devotion. Hannibal was what every fiber of his being cried out for. Hannibal was that ache in his heart, that feeling of completeness, because he  _ loved _ him.

“Yeah,” he choked out, dropping his head against her shoulder. “I suppose I do.”

“He loves you too, you know,” Michelle said running little fingers through his hair. “He said so to Dr. Bloom.”

“Did he now?”

“Yeah.”

They fell silent for a moment. Allowing the weight of those words to wash over them. The dogs were settled contently in their beds, with only Winston pressed against them, ever diligent with his protection. 

Will sighed and tried not to think of Hannibal. Of all the ways he had wrong him, and of all the ways he had attempted to set things right. Oh, how Will hated him, hated him just about as much as he loved him.

Michelle shifted in his arms, wiped at the tears streaming down his face and gave him a small smile. “Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, sure, kiddo. No legs though.”

“No legs. Just chicken. And mac and cheese.”

“And broccoli.”

_____

Michelle pulled the blanket tighter around her and scootched back so her back rested against the lip of the window. She smiled, imagining the face tėtis would surely make if he knew Will told her to climb onto the roof to watch the stars. She found that she liked being up here on the roof. High above the world. It made her feel big. And powerful. Like she was towering over the world.

“The stars are brighter out here.”

Will hummed in agreement. “Less light pollution,” he said passing her a mug of hot chocolate. “And we’re higher off the ground.”

“I like it.”

“I thought you would.”

The hot chocolate was the overly sweet kind. The kind that comes in little packets that you add hot water to. The kind that tėtis never lets her drink. Michelle smiled into her drink. Will was the best. He did all thing things tėtis hated.

“Do you see that star right there?” Will asked, pointing up at the sky. Michelle wasn’t exactly sure which star he was pointing at, as there were thousands, possibly millions, but she nodded anyway. “That’s Sirius, the dog star. It’s the brightest star in the night sky.”

“Why’s it called the dog star?”

“Mainly due to its placement within the constellation, Canis Major.”

“The great dog?”

“Yup, the great dog. In Greek Mythology, Canis Major represented the dog Laelaps, a gift from Zeus to Europa. It’s sometimes the hound of Procris, Diana’s nymph, or the one given by Aurora to Cephalus, so famed for its speed that Zeus elevated it to the sky.”

“Are all the constellations based in Greek Mythology?”

“A lot of them, yeah. Like Orion, which is right there,” Will said gesturing toward a patch of stars, “named after well, Orion, a hunter in Greek Mythology. Canis Major was also considered to represent one of Orion’s hunting dogs.”

“How do people tell the constellations apart? They all just look like a bunch of dots in the sky.”

“Well you see Sirius right?”

Michelle squinted at the sky. She supposed there was one star that was brighter than the rest. “Yeah?”

“To the left of it, do you see those three bright stars that are almost in a row?”

“Yes! Yes I do!”

“Well that, sweetheart, is Orion’s belt. If you look to the North of it, you should see a large orange star, that’s Betelgeuse, a massive red supergiant, it is the right shoulder to Orion.”

Michelle tried to follow Will’s descriptions of the stars, but after a while her eyes started to get all crossed and everything blurred into one. Letting out a yawn she cradled the now empty mug close and dropped her head onto Will’s shoulder.

“Can we go to the cliff house tomorrow?” She asked sleepily.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but what cliff house?”

“You know, the cliff house,” Michelle said waving her hands vaguely. “The one on the cliff, overlooking the Chesapeake Bay. Big windows, precarious cliff.”

“Sounds lovely, unfortunately your tėtis has never taken me there, so I don't know where it is.”

“Oh he should. We should ask him, tomorrow.” Putting the mug aside, Michelle burrowed against Will, chasing his warmth. “Abigail is probably lonely there, taking care of Miss Beverly all alone.”

“Oh?”

Michelle nodded against him, eyes slipping closed. “Yeah, and it’s not like Miss Beverly is very good company right now, either. She just sleeps most of the time.”

“Fucking Hannibal,” Will muttered under his breath. If Michelle had been more awake she would have giggled and said ‘language,’ the way tėtis does. If Michelle had been more awake she would have told Will that the word fuck was crass and tėtis disapproves if it's usually, and therefore he should use it more often. But she was too sleepy for jokes and Will was so warm and comfortable against her.

_____

Hannibal was just about to prepare lunch when he noticed Will's car pulling into the driveway. Changing his trajectory, he relocated to the foyer and watched as Michelle hopped out of the car and made her way around to the front, practically climbing into Will’s lap when he opened the door for her. Will held her close, speaking softly to her as she nodded along enthusiastically. It was a touching scene, one that Hannibal would have appreciated more if he hadn’t been preoccupied with the question of, what were they doing here?

During the drive down to Wolf Trap, Michelle had insisted that she be allowed to spend the maximum amount of time with Will. She would not relent until he finally conceded that she be allowed to forgo her harpsichord lessons and return in time for supper. The fact that they are currently six hours ahead of schedule was quite curious, and undoubtedly by Michelle’s design.

When Will finally released her, Hannibal moved to pull open the door. For a second, his eyes locked with Will's, his heart fluttering as he was met with a smug defiance. Hannibal smiled, shifting his attention toward Michelle who was now approaching the house in quick, purposeful strides, the weekend bag slung over her shoulder slapping angrily against her legs. 

“Good morning, tėtis,” Michelle said hurriedly, pushing past him and into the house. She paused for a moment to toe off her shoes before disappearing up the stairs, all before Hannibal could get in a greeting.

Hannibal stared after her for a moment, baffled by her behavior. Michelle knew better than to behave so rudely, even if she was still harboring unsavory feelings over his most recent choices. Glancing back toward Will and the car he as currently idling in, his confusion shifted into suspicion when Will flashed him a toothy grin.

“Come, tėtis, we have to go,” Michelle said pressing his coat and gloves into his hand. “Will’s waiting in the car.”

“So I can see,” Hannibal said, entertaining her as he pulled on his coat and slipped his feet into the shoes she had subsequently placed at his feet. “And where is it that we shall be journeying to, little one?”

“The cliff house,” Michelle chripped happily beside him. “Will didn’t know how to get there, so he suggested we come pick you up so we could all go together.”

Hannibal stilled, sucking at his teeth in annoyance as he shifted his gaze back to Will, who was now openly laughing. He would have to have long talk with Michelle about keeping secrets again, but for now, he could indulge her this.

_____

Will took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm his rabbiting heart. This was a terrible idea. He shouldn’t be here. He should be home, with his dogs, getting covered in dog hair. But instead he had gotten a haircut and had his beard trimmed, not to mention removed as much dog hair as he possibly could from his clothes and dug out the nice overcoat from the back of his closet.

Folding the traitorous overcoat over his arm, he checked the time again and knocked. Once. Sharply. And then immediately turned around because his goddamn heart was still beating out of his chest and he can’t possibly face Hannibal like this. This was a terrible idea. Will had half a mind to leave, but he couldn’t. He needed this. Needed to deal with Hannibal. And his feelings about him. It was best if he did that directly.

The door opened behind him and Will forced himself to turn around slowly. “Hello, Will.”

Will regarded Hannibal with a tight smile and a slight tilt of his head. “May I come in?”

“Are you finally acknowledging my presence now?”

“Dr. Lecter,” Will drawled, relishing the look of distaste Hannibal wore at being addressed by his title. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Will,” Hannibal chastised, and Will had to fight the surge of arousal threatening to pool in his gut. “I believe we were past such formalities.”

Will hummed. Brushing by him when Hannibal gestured for him to enter. Everything about the room was exactly as he remembered it, down to the wine glass sitting neatly on the end table next to Hannibal's armchair. 

“My apologies, Dr. Lecter,” Will said hanging his coat. “Were you expecting someone?”

“Only you.”

“Of course you were,” Will muttered under house breath, but knew Hannibal heard him regardless.

“So, Will, what brings you here today.”

“Why don't you tell me, Dr. Lecter, since you were clearly anticipating my arrival.”

“Teacups and time.”

Will scoffed. “Oh, that's rich, Dr. Lecter. Funny how easy it is to piece a teacup back together when it was never shattered in the first place.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t,” Hannibal said, following his path around the room. “It was merely chipped.”

“You cut off her fucking ear and shoved it down my throat, Hannibal!” Will screamed, turning to snarl at Hannibal. He was tired of playing games his fucking games. Tired of all the lies. 

“An action I regret most deeply.”

“Fuck you, Hannibal.” Will shoved past him to retrieve the abandoned glass of wine. “Fuck you, and your fuckery. I’m tired of all the lies. Of your fucking face. God, I hate you so fucking much right now.”

“A completely reasonable sentiment, considering the circumstances,” Hannibal replied, with a sincerity Will  _ almost _ believed. 

“You fucked with my head, Hannibal,” Will spat, tossing back the contents of the glass before setting it back down forcefully. He willed it to topple over and shatter when it wobbled precariously, but alas it settled without incident. “I fucking trusted you, and you _ fucked _ me instead. And not in the fun way.”

Hannibal sighed heavily before refilling the glass, shifting closer to Will. “Dear Will-”

“No!” Will screamed, flinching back from the hand moving to cup his cheek. He wanted to give in. To give into this man, and his hands, but he couldn't. Not when the feeling of those hands gently cupping his face while they kissed were overlapped with the feeling of those same hands gently cupping his face while a feeding tube was involuntarily shoved down his throat. “Don't fucking call me that.”

The disappointment written on Hannibal's face almost made his heart ache, and Will wanted nothing more than to smooth those lines away. “Will,” he tried again, keeping his distance, hands twitching minutely at his sides, “there are no words in existence that can possibly construe how incredibly sorry I truly am for that.”

“Stop. Just fucking stop.” Will rubbed at his face. He was tempted to drain the new glass of wine, but couldn't allow the alcohol to further cloud his judgement.

“What is it that you would like me to stop, Will? For I will never stop apologizing for the trails I put you through until I have gained back trust and forgiveness.”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” Will groaned, collapsing into the chair. “I don't think I can ever forgive you for what you fucking put me though. Eight months, Hannibal. Eight fucking months.”  _ Without you. Without Michelle. Thinking Abigail was dead. Thinking Beverly was lost to the ripper. _

“A necessary evil. You were not ready to see us then, Will.”

“Fuck you.” Will glared up at Hannibal. “I wasn't fucking ready to see. Who the fuck are you to determine what I was,  _ am _ , ready or not to see?”

Hannibal met his stare, with a subtle shake of his head. “No, you are right.  _ I _ was the one not ready to allow you see me. I wasn't prepared for the possibility of your rejection of me.”

“So what? You knee jerked and accidentally shoved her ear down my throat?”

“I needed it to be believable, Will. Believe me when I say I would never have done anything to truly compromise your life.”

“Except let my brain fucking cook itself!” Will shook with righteous anger, tears stinging the back of his eyes.

Hannibal had the audacity to look affronted, hands reluctantly held to his side, flexing in an attempt to not reach for Will again. Every miniscule movement, setting Will more and more on edge. He came in here for a confrontation. He was ready for a fight. And yet. No matter what he said, no matter how many times he spat venom at Hannibal, the fucking bastard just stood there and took it. With what looked like  _ regret _ filling his eyes.

Will couldn’t take it anymore, this juxtaposition of love and hate. Of truth and lies. He couldn’t bare it if everything had been a lie. If he had been nothing more to Hannibal than merely a pawn. 

“I sorely regret not treating your encephalitis with as much care was I should have, I thought I had everything under control. I thought that things would work themselves out the way they always did. My plans have always been fool proof, but then you entered my life, Will. You whom I could never truly predict. You took everything I thought I knew and-”

“Just shut your fucking face and hold me already,” Will sobbed, the ache in his bones crying out for Hannibal’s touch becoming unbearable. In an instant he was enveloped in warmth and crushed against Hannibal’s chest. “I hate you. I fucking hate you so fucking much, you know that?” he mumbled against Hannibal's shoulder, fists wrapping around the lapels of yet another hideous suit, pulling him as close as humanly possible.

“Yes, dear Will,” Hannibal said pressing a tender kiss to his hair. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will effectively spends 6,000 words pretending Hannibal doesn’t exist while talking around him. Initially they were supposed to end with Hannibal being railed against his ladder when Will finally acknowledges him, but the chapter got out of hand. That and the whole conversation went a different route.  
> Michelle is still quite angry at Hannibal and thereby rebelling by revealing all his secrets to Will who she sees and a equal to Hannibal and therefore worthy of knowing. Hannibal is most displeased with her spilling the beans, but at the same time, he is ecstatic that she holds Will in such high regard.  
> Hannibal does indeed take Will to the cliff house where he is then reunited with Abigail and they have a long talk about all the things. He gets to see Beverly and witness that she is still in fact alive, but concedes to let Hannibal finish his “therapy” with her so that she doesn’t remember what has happened to her.  
> The last section of this chapter should be entitled “How many times can I get Will to say fuck before Hannibal loses it.” And the answer is there is no upper limit because Hannibal understands how angry Will is and is actually apologetic about what he put Will through and will therefore allow him to vent. Like I said, this was supposed to end with Will fucking Hannibal senseless against the ladder, but Will decided to cry instead.  
> With all that said, April fool's! How far did you get before you realized this wasn't strats or a real chapter? Please let me know how I did! 
> 
>  
> 
> A note from the real strats: Today's chapter was brought to you by [The April Fool's Fic Swap](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/aprilfoolsficswap), where this chapter will also be uploaded at some point today. For anyone who is upset, there IS a real chapter coming. It is almost done, and I'd intended to have it ready by today, but I got married on the 16th and am currently on my honeymoon (and running late for our next adventure!), so it didn't wrap up in time. But it's coming! In April! I promise!


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter was uploaded as part of an April Fool's joke. This is the ACTUAL chapter six. It is very, very late, and you may need to go refresh your memory of chapter 5

It was cloudy when Will was released. Will supposed sunshine had been too much to hope for. Still, the disappointment of clouds could not outweigh the heavy sense of relief. He was out, loose in the world once more. He was going _home_.

“Why didn’t Hannibal just kill you?” Chilton asked him. Will could have thought of a dozen people he would have rather had walk him out, and that was just the inmates, but it was Chilton he was stuck with. At least now, Will no longer felt like he had reason to hide.

“Because he wants to think he loves me,” Will told him, and felt a spike of spiteful glee at the myriad of emotions that crossed Chilton’s face.

“You told me you weren’t sleeping together,” Chilton accused.

Will rolled his eyes. “Actually, I just told you it was unethical for a psychiatrist to sleep with their patient,” He corrected, “But if you check my medical records, you’ll find that Hannibal was never officially my psychiatrist.”

Chilton’s face flickered a few more times before somehow managing to be ‘irritated’ _and_ ‘smug’ at the exact same time. Although ‘smug’ appeared so often on Chilton’s face that Will was beginning to wonder if he was stuck that way.

Jack was waiting, when Will came up the steps into the main floor of the hospital. The natural light that filtered in through the windows was gray from the clouds, but it still managed to tempt Will.

“I thought you could use a ride,” Jack offered. Will wanted to deny him. He wanted to spit out that he would call a cab, or _walk_ to Virginia, if he had to, rather than sit in a car with a man who had ignored every word out of his mouth.

But he didn’t actually want to walk to Virginia, and cab rides across state lines were rare and expensive. Will sighed and followed Jack to the car.

_____

In the car, Will leaned against the window, trying to lose himself in the view of trees and houses. The highway stretched before him, seeming infinite as Jack cleared his throat.

“We found Miriam Lass,” He said, “Alive.”

Will startled, straightening up. In all the thousand of thoughts he’d had about Hannibal, never once had it occurred to him that Miriam would be found alive. In all honesty, Will assumed he’d devoured her whole. He had a sneaking suspicion that the sounders of three every couple of years were not the Ripper’s only victims, not if Hannibal was as strict about his diet as Will suspected he was. Those were just the ones he displayed.

But Miriam was alive, and free. A spark of hope lit itself in Will’s chest and was immediately quenched by logistics: If they’d caught Hannibal, even Jack would have begun the conversation with an apology.

“You didn’t catch the Ripper,” Will surmised, turning his gaze back to the scenery.

“No,” Jack admitted, “We found a cabin, Miriam inside. We’re searching for more evidence.”

He wasn’t going to find any. Will was already resigned to that. If they’d found Miriam Lass, it was because Hannibal wanted her found.

“How is she?” Will asked.

“Traumatized,” Jack admitted. He hesitated, a small intake of breath that gave away his reticence. It peaked Will’s curiosity; he peered at Jack from the corner of his eye, his stare disguised by too-long bangs. It took a long moment for Jack to speak again, and when he did, the words were sharp-edged with his audible guilt.

“She thanked me for not giving up on her,” Jack said, “But I did. I gave up on the both of you, her for dead and you for crazy.”

“So, am I not crazy anymore?” Will mused, a low drawl that brought a discontented look to Jack’s face. Jack didn’t answer him.

“I stopped trying to find her,” He said instead, “To find both of you.”

“I wasn’t missing,” Will growled, “You just weren’t listening.”

“I’m listening now,” Jack insisted, “I put Miriam Lass in a room with Hannibal Lecter, she stated definitively that he is _not_ the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“And was that good enough for you?”

“No,” Jack said ruefully, “It wasn’t.”

That was enough to startle Will again, although eh kept it hidden. He looked at Jack, properly this time. Jack looked tired, weary. He looked like a man who had seen and done too much. He looked like a man who needed a nap.

A slow smile stretched over Will’s face. He leaned back in his seat, relaxing once more. “Where did you find Miriam, Jack?”

_____

Tėtis had built a cage around the leg, lining it with leafy greens and whatever else snails liked. Michelle didn’t think the snails had a bed, though, and that seemed unfair, so she had made one herself. It was a nice shade of electric blue felt, from her craft box, and she’d put glitter on it.

The snails probably didn’t _need_ a bed, not really, but what Michelle _really_ wanted was to go downstairs.

Downstairs was different now than it had been when Miss Beverly stayed with them. For one thing, it had the snail garden now, and for another, it had The Man.

The Man had scared Michelle once, when Will was shaking and seizing in the dining room. He was too happy about everything, smiling when no one had a right to smile. But now, The Man didn’t have any legs, and that made him a lot scarier.

The Man was called Dr. Gideon, and he was not like Miss Beverly. He was allowed to roll around the downstairs in his wheelchair, as long as Tėtis was home to make sure he didn’t get into mischief. He did not need to be drugged and tied down when Tėtis was home, because without his legs, he couldn’t get up the stairs and through the door, not without Tėtis noticing. Even if the door _hadn’t_ locked from the outside.

Michelle wished Miss Beverly could have been awake when she was here, but she supposed that it was better that Miss Beverly was allowed to keep her legs.

Michelle stood on the very very tippiest of her toes, peering up at the leg in its garden. The snails had started to erode it. It didn’t look much like a leg anymore, excepting the toes.

“Wasn’t expecting company,” A low voice drawled from behind her, “I would have made tea.”

Michelle was _not_ afraid of Dr. Gideon, not really, not _actually_ , but she still didn’t like being snuck up on. She whirled around, clutching the felt scraps tight in her hands, and took a step back. Dr. Gideon frowned at her from his wheelchair. He had funny eyes. Bad-Funny, not Laugh-Funny. Michelle straightened up.

“You can’t make tea,” She said, accusing, “You don’t have a stove.”

“Fair enough,” Dr. Gideon said, “But it’s still polite to call ahead, don’t you think? What are you doing down here, anyway?”

“I made the snails a bed,” Michelle informed him, waving the felt around. A few speckles of glitter shook their way to the floor. She watched them with a bit of fascination. They sparkled in the low lighting.

“Be careful,” Dr. Gideon said, “The glitter might make them sick, and then what will we eat for dinner?”

“Probably your arm,” Michelle said, because that seemed like the next logical step. Dr. Gideon looked down at his hands and started to laugh. It was not a Happy laugh. It was Bad-Funny, like his eyes.

Michelle was not afraid of Dr. Gideon, because she was a big girl, but she edged towards the stairs anyway. It was warmer upstairs, and snails did not sleep in beds.

“An arm, some fingers, a kidney or two. Nothing that daddy of yours won’t eat, is there, kid?”

“Tėtis,” Michelle corrected, automatic, “And you can’t eat bones.”

“You can still cook with them,” Dr. Gideon said dismissively, “Use them for stock. My mother used to make beef soup with the bones, I’m sure your Tėtis could figure it out.”

Bones for stock, marrow for gravies. Michelle knew a dozen recipes they could try out on Dr. Gideon. The thought made her a little better. She hadn’t _really_ come to give the snails a bed, after all. She’d come for curiosity.

Feeling a tad bit braver, Michelle took a step towards Dr. Gideon, peeking at him.

He wore soft pajamas, and a thick blanket around his shoulders. Beneath the blanket, though, peeking out from the edge, she could see the thick white bandages.

Dr. Gideon’s legs ended mid-thigh, above the knee. Tėtis changed his bandages a couple of times a day, disappearing into the basement. The newer injury had bled through, just a little bit. Michelle locked onto the red stain, fascinated.

“Did it hurt?” It was a silly question; she knew it was a silly question. But she had to ask.

Dr. Gideon’s eyes narrowed. He yanked the blanket up, extending the stump that had once been a leg. She’d eaten that leg. She’d put it in her mouth and chewed it all up and swallowed and then her digestive system had crunched it all up into energy. That made her stronger than Dr. Gideon, right? Top of the food chain?”

“Like a bitch,” Dr. Gideon growled.

“I don’t know what that means,” Michelle said. She knew it was one of the Bad Words, words you only said if you were capital-R Rude, but she didn’t really understand what it meant in regard to pain. No one she knew used words like that, and certainly not in front of Michelle. “It hurt a lot?”

“Your daddy tied me down and sliced into my skin while I watched,” Dr. Gideon said, tilting his head, “Then he fed me my pound of flesh. How does that make you _feel_?”

“I don’t have a Daddy,” Michelle insisted, because that was the easiest part of that sentence, “I keep telling you I don’t have a Daddy.”

“No, you don’t,” Dr. Gideon agreed, “You have something else entirely. Most children are afraid of the monster under the bed, but here you are, playing house with two of them.”

“There’s no monsters,” Michelle said, voice high and tight, sharp in her throat, “There’s nothing under the bed, Tėtis said.”

“None under the bed,” Dr. Gideon drawled, “But the basement, the basement is another matter entirely.”

Dr. Gideon tilted his head. His eyes were shiny, and for the first time, he looked like the man who had watched Will shake in their dining room. Like the man who’d gone after Dr. Bloom and given her the pink scar across her cheek.

She understood now, what he was saying. Dr. Gideon lived in the basement, and Tėtis came down to the basement to work. But Tėtis…

Whatever Tėtis did in the basement, he was still _Tėtis._ He washed and braided her hair, and tucked her into bed, and made her boxed mac and cheese when things were really, _really_ bad. He wasn’t a monster, no matter what Dr. Gideon said, he could not ever ever be a monster. Monsters were bad, they did bad things, but Tėtis never did anything bad to Michelle.

 _He did something bad to Will_ , a tiny voice reminded her, _He hurt Will, and Will was still trapped, still hurting_.

But whatever he’d done to Will, Tėtis had only done because he _had_ to. And he was going to fix it. He promised. He didn’t hurt people Michelle liked. That’s why Miss Beverly was at the cliff house.

Dr. Gideon, though, Dr. Gideon was a man who did bad things. A man who sliced people open who Michelle actually sort of liked, at least before they went around kissing people they weren’t supposed to. Dr. Bloom needed to back away from Michelle’s family, but she wasn’t rude, or bad, not like the people Tėtis brought into the basement. Not like Dr. Gideon.

By Michelle’s reasoning, which was the only sort that mattered to her, Tėtis was not a monster. But Dr. Gideon _was_. A monster who, even with no legs, was twice the size of Michelle. Michelle took a step back, and looked around for something to throw at him.

“Michelle!” Tėtis stood at the top of the stairs, backlit by the bright lights of the pantry. Dr. Gideon looked at him, then back to Michelle. He smiled, that awkward, too-bright smile.

“Better run, little girl. Daddy’s calling.” And his smile stretched wider and wider across his face, and he was bigger than her, and had torn people apart.

Michelle did not correct him again. She scrambled up the stairs, throwing herself at Tėtis’s legs. Tėtis stared over her head, down the stairs. Then, he locked the door behind her.

_____

Theater. _Field Kabuki_. Hannibal really did have a penchant for the dramatic. Will had stood in that cabin, staring down into the cisterns, and seen Hannibal Lecter in every corner.

Jack hadn’t. Oh, he was listening now, taking in everything Will said and filing it away into a corner of his mind, something to chew on late at night. But he didn’t see what Will saw. And once he found that piece of evidence, that arrow pointing to anyone but Hannibal, he was going to jump on it.

Will wondered who Hannibal was going to frame this time. He had absolved Will, out of some misguided feeling of… possession, maybe? His favorite toy was in someone else’s toybox. Chilton had his grubby little fingers all over Will’s brain, and Hannibal wanted to pack up his things and go home.

Will was, frankly, a little tired of feeling like everyone’s favorite plaything.

Will finally turned up the long drive towards his home, his lighthouse. He’d spent his first night free in some god-awful motel in the middle of nowhere. It had been the best night of sleep he’d had in months. Tonight was surely going to top it.

The front door opened as Will stepped out of the car. The dogs spilled out over the front lawn in a mass of eager tongues and tails. Will dropped to his knees with a gasp and let them wash over him, petting each one in turn. There were more than he remembered, and he raised an eyebrow as he checked the collar of the newest addition.

“That one’s mine,” Alana said, stepping off the porch to meet him. “Applesauce. She likes applesauce. I rescued her.”

“Picking up some of my bad habits?” Will asked, straightening to his feet.

“I like to think of them as your good ones.” They stared at each other, two people who no longer knew how to interact, who could no longer recall the slant of a conversation where they were on equal ground.

“You stopped visiting,” Will said. Winston nosed at his hand. He pat at the soft fur distractedly.

“You challenged the entire framework of how I perceive you,” Alana replied, her voice soft and uncertain, “The way I think you are.”

Will took in her stance, the way she stood just out of reach, arms across her chest. “The way you think I am isn’t always who I actually am,” He said slowly, “People are funny that way.”

“I was wrong about you.”

And there it was. There was sorrow in her eyes, but not for him. Her gaze lacked the pity and regret Will might have expected. Instead, she carried herself with a defensive anger. It boiled inside her, lacking direction, lacking focus.

Will was not in the mood to assuage anyone else’s feelings. He was not sure he would ever manage that mood again.

“Because you didn’t believe in me?” He asked, knowing before the flinch that she hadn’t meant that at all, “Because you sat across from me, my hands chained to the table, and told me you knew I’d killed those girls, but it was alright because you _supported_ me?” He spat out the last few words with venom aimed to wound. He succeeded. Alana drew her hands tighter around herself and avoided his eyes.

“Because I sat by Hannibal’s hospital bed while he recovered from wounds you sent to him.”

Will did not flinch. He’d had enough time to adjust to that muddled emotion, the soft flickers of guilt and concern that merged with the regret of a job left unfinished. “I see we’re back to the doubt,” He growled, “Tell me, is there anything I could tell anybody about myself that they might believe?”

“What is it I’m supposed to believe, Will?”

“I didn’t send Matthew Brown to kill Hannibal.”

“But he wouldn’t have gone, if you hadn’t pointed him in Hannibal’s direction.”

There was a truth to that which even Will could not deny. It was a truth that had echoed in his head since he’d been told of the attack. “Saying it the insulting way, I see,” Will told her, just to watch her flinch again. “If you think for one second that I would have sent that man into a home with a defenseless child in it, you need to get the hell off my property.”

There was the regret Will had hoped to see when he arrived. Some of Alana’s bravado fled her. Her shoulders sank.

“I don’t think that,” She said quietly, “But, Will, I don’t know _what_ to think about you anymore.”

“Then we’re on the same page,” Will said flatly. They stared at each other for a long moment. Alana’s hands were trembling.

“You’ve been pointing fingers at Hannibal,” She finally said, “Is he safe?” Her eyes flickered away on the last word. They’d been doing that a lot through the entire conversation. Every time she mentioned Hannibal’s name, in fact.

The realization dawned upon Will in a bubbling, roaring rage. He felt stupid. He should have seen it coming. Hannibal had thrown the hint in his face, after all.

“From me, or _for_ you?” Will hissed, and Alana’s flinch was the only answer he needed. He straightened up to his full height. Alana took a step back, as if Will was going to hit her. As if he would _ever…_

“I don’t believe this,” Will said.

“Will,” Alana said weakly. Will’s eyes narrowed.

“They were the worst months of my life. I was trapped and alone, and you were out here trying to _fuck my boyfriend?_ ” Never mind that Will would have loudly announced their breakup to anyone who had thought to ask. Had the bed even been cold yet when Hannibal pulled Alana into it?

It was Hannibal who Will was angry with, to be honest, but he couldn’t help the flicker of spite he felt towards Alana. Hannibal was manipulative, and coercive, but she should have known better. She was their _friend_ , the only one who they had come forward and explicitly told about their relationship.

“It wasn’t like that,” Alana protested.

“Really?” Will asked, “What was it like? Is there some other interpretation of you sleeping with Hannibal that I’m missing?”

“We didn’t sleep together,” Alana said, with another avoidant flicker of her eyes. It was a paltry difference, to Will, who shared intimacy with another person so rarely.

“Whatever you did,” Will growled, “Would you have told me about it if I hadn’t guessed?”

Alana looked down at the dogs. One of them nosed at her trembling hands. She did not answer. Maybe she didn’t know the answer.

“Go home, Alana,” Will growled, “And stay away from Hannibal Lecter.”

“Will, I’m so sorry-“

“Not for me,” Will snapped, “For yourself. Unless you think he had entirely altruistic motives for this little affair? Damn it, Alana, at least you were single. Hannibal had even less excuse than you did.”

For some reason, that seemed to rouse Alana’s bravery once more. She paused as she passed Will, her hand on the car door.

“Hannibal missed you every second of every day,” She said, voice quiet, yet firm. “Any affection he felt for me was borne out of a shared mourning. I was a distraction, Will,” Alana’s voice broke on a sob, “Someone who could understand him, and didn’t try to make him move on. It was less an affair and more a shared suffering.”

“Am I supposed to _thank_ you?” Will hissed.

“No,” Alana told him. “I’m not proud of myself. I have no reason to be. And whatever you feel towards Hannibal, that’s your business. But I can’t see what you’re seeing in him, Will, not when I know what he looks like when you’re gone.”

Something jerked hard in Will’s stomach, something that felt a lot like guilt and hope, locked in a twisted embrace. “Go home, Alana,” He growled.

She was staring at him in the rearview mirror, when she left. Will pretended not to notice.

_____

Hannibal’s last patient of the day had canceled. Hannibal was immeasurably grateful; life had been conspiring to wear him out, lately, and he needed the break. Being a single father of two was difficult, even if one of the children was a largely-self-sufficient teenager. She still needed guidance, and comfort, and enough groceries to fuel a small army. Growing was tiring business, after all.

And Michelle, sweet Michelle, was growing into her teenage years a bit early. She had always been sneaky, Hannibal had raised her to be, but she had always snuck around within the boundaries Hannibal had set for her. Lately, she’d started to view those boundaries as a challenge. Hannibal had needed to have a little chat with Abel Gideon about spending time with Hannibal’s daughter. The kidney would go well with the Bordeaux Hannibal had picked up just that morning, and as a bonus, Gideon would be much too tired to entertain guests.

But today, Abigail was with Miss Katz, Michelle was at school, and Hannibal was home early enough to contemplate some additional dinner plans. One kidney was hardly enough to feed three people, two of whom were growing.

Hannibal paused, taking a deep breath in. “I meant to buy you some better aftershave,” He said, and his heart was pounding like it hadn’t since he was a child, since the first time he held someone’s life in his hands. The kitchen was dark, in deference to the headache that had begun to build behind Hannibal’s’ eyes. He opened the refrigerator, the closest light at hand, intending to offer Will something to drink.

Will Graham stepped out of the shadows, gun drawn. Hannibal let go of the door.

He had not seen Will since his release. His curls had gotten out of hand, long and unruly. Hannibal wanted to run his hands through them. It was a sudden, overwhelming, all-encompassing desire. He could not reign it in, could not help the trembling of his hands. Will cocked the gun.

“I believe we were interrupted, the last time we had this chat,” Will growled.

“The last time you aimed a gun at me?”

“The last time I was able to confront you on equal footing.”

“I’m unarmed,” Hannibal pointed out, “You consider that to be equal footing?”

Will took a step forward. Hannibal held himself very still. “Yes,” Will growled.

For a moment, they stared at each other, still and silent. Neither willing to make the next move.

“How would killing me make you feel, Will?” Hannibal finally asked.

“Righteous,” Will insisted, but his voice wavered. His hands shook, even as he took another step forward, faster than Hannibal was prepared for. Hannibal jerked back, staring down the barrel of Will’s gun.

“Will,” He said, his voice catching, thick in his throat, “Will…” It should not have been so difficult to say. He was not the type to admit to anything. Plausible deniability was a necessity for living free. But Hannibal ached, now, in a way he’d never ached before. He forced the words past his teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Out in the open, now. No more pretending he had not had a hand in Will’s incarceration. It was worth it for the look on Will’s face, a moment of startled pleasure that morphed into suspicion. Will’s hands wavered. He stared at Hannibal as if he’d never seen him before. And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe they were just now seeing each other for the first time.

“You’re not,” Will said, “You’re not sorry. You just don’t want me to shoot you.”

“I don’t believe that you’re going to shoot me.” Hannibal didn’t believe it, not really, but it was more that he _had_ to disbelieve it. There was no intimacy in a gunshot. To believe that Will is capable of killing him in such a cold, unfeeling manner, was to shed doubt on everything Hannibal believed Will to be.

Will drew in a shaking breath. His finger twitched on the trigger. Hannibal leaned forward, tilted his head back to welcome the barrel of the gun into the soft skin below his jaw. He did not flinch at the cold, or at the jerk of the metal against his flesh. He waited.

Will stared at him. “Damn it,” He muttered, and then again, “Damn it. Damn it, _fuck_ -“ He interrupted himself on the last word, slamming the gun down on the counter. “You absolute _ass-“_

Hannibal reached for him, unable to stop himself anymore. He cupped Will’s jaw in his hands. Will glared at him, fire and rage and absolute betrayal, a cacophonous haze of emotions, so utterly beautiful in his ferocity.

Hannibal’s fingertips tucked a lock of hair behind Will’s ear, grazing over the sensitive spot just behind his jaw. Will’s eyelashes fluttered. He still looked angry, but he leaned into Hannibal’s touch almost in spite of himself.

“I hate you,” Will murmured, “I hate you so fucking much.”

Hannibal kissed him. Or perhaps it was Will who had initiated, Hannibal could not be certain. He could not even be certain he was awake; surely, this was just the latest in a line of peaceful dreams.

But no, those were Will’s curls, soft and overgrown between Hannibal’s fingers. Hannibal broke the kiss to tilt Will’s head back, nuzzling up under his jaw the way Will had always liked. Will stifled a moan into his own hand.

“Will,” Hannibal murmured, “Dear Will, I’m so sorry.”

Whatever peace they had found, it shattered. Will shoved him off, red-faced. They stared at each other, Will’s chest heaving, his eyes darting wildly around the room. He grabbed his gun.

“Don’t touch me,” He said, and fled.

Hannibal was alone.

_____

The monster in the basement went away. Michelle watched Tėtis and Abigail carry him up the stairs. No legs, no arms. All gone. All eaten.

They put Dr. Gideon in a big big suitcase, so he could go outside without the neighbors seeing. He had a mask over his face and a machine that breathed for him, puff puff puff. Michelle watched from the stairs. There was a dent in the wall from where she’d thrown the armor. She picked at a loose piece of wallpaper.

When Dr. Gideon was gone, tucked into the car for Tėtis’s next big plan, they came back. Abigail hoisted her up into her arms, even though everyone said Michelle was ‘getting much too big for this.’ She didn’t _feel_ too big. She still felt small, tiny even. Everyone was so so very tall. Especially Tėtis.

“He’s going to be dead,” Michelle said into the curtain of Abigail’s hair. Tėtis reached for her. She went with a grateful little sigh, snuggling in much more easily in Tėtis’s sturdy strength.

“He is,” Tėtis agreed. “Do you trust me?”

Michelle’s face scrunched up. She hid it in the windowpane pattern of Tėtis’s suit. Yes. Probably. Maybe. Most of the time. Lately, some of Tėtis’s decisions were confusing to her. Finally, she shrugged.

Tėtis sighed. He cupped her chin in one big hand and guided her gaze to his face, if not quite his eyes. “I promised I would fix things, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Michelle said, because that was a much easier question to answer.

“Well, this is how I’m going to fix them. This is how I’m going to make the world safe for Will again, and for me.”

“And then Will can come home?”

Tėtis smiled at her. Abigail was smiling too, which was better than when only Tėtis did it. Abigail was smart and she didn’t talk around things like Tėtis did.

“The pieces are coming together again,” Tėtis said, which was not an answer, but was almost one. Michelle nodded, and tried to squirm out of his arms.

“Go, then,” She said, “Go now! Hurry up! What are you waiting for?”

Tėtis laughed and set her down. “Of course. Right away.”

_____

Framing Frederick Chilton had been the easiest decision in the world. Hannibal only wished he’d managed to do it sooner, before so much ire had settled in over Will like a heavy cloak. He wore it well. Will was made for vengeance and righteousness, for black-eyed rage.

But still, Hannibal might have preferred to see him draped in the softness of relief. A spark of a smile, the red-jeweled tones of lust. Hannibal had sketched Will a dozen times since his incarceration, and none had compared to the way Will had looked in Hannibal’s kitchen, his bed. Kneeling down to talk to Michelle, or settled shyly on the duvet, knees drawn up to his chest.

Hannibal had another sketch in his head on his way out the door, coat draped over his arm. It flew away on a breeze when he found Will in the waiting room, his back to Hannibal, his shoulders relaxed. Will turned to face him, and this too, cast a shadow of failure over anything Hannibal might have drawn.

Will had cut his hair, trimmed his beard. He wore a close-fitting salmon shirt and carefully pressed pants, and he smiled, a small smirk that promised mischief.

“You kept my appointment open,” He said, prowling past Hannibal to the empty office. Hannibal shut the door behind him, staring openly. Will had come unarmed. Unguarded. He went for his usual chair. Hannibal was helpless to do anything but follow him.

“Of course,” Hannibal said, “The time is yours, should you need it.”

“I have to deal with you. And my… feelings, about you.” Will grinned up from the chair, sharp-fanged, sharp-eyed. “I’d like to resume my therapy.”

Hannibal sat across from him, choosing his words carefully. “ _Only_ your therapy?”

“Well,” Will drawled, “We’ll see how it goes.”

_____

Michelle kicked her feet impatiently in the back seat. The drive to Wolf Trap was always exceedingly long. She hated it.

“I thought Dr. Bloom was watching the dogs,” She said, peeking eagerly out the window as they pulled up the driveway.

“She had to bring them back,” Tėtis said as he parked. Michelle didn’t wait for him, already scurrying out of the car. She hated the drive, but she liked the dogs, and she was excited to let them out and run about in the big empty fields with them. Even if seeing the house tugged at the thing inside her that hurt. It felt wrong to be in Wolf Trap without Will.

And then, as Michelle hurried for the door, it opened, dogs spilling out into the front yard. Michelle froze in place, tilting her head back to look up up up.

She could hear her heartbeat in her throat. Will stood in the doorway, looking down at her, completely stiff, his hand still on the knob. He was wide eyed, and his beard was different. Tidier. Everything about him was tidier. But it was still _Will_.

The painful thing inside of her felt so big, and so horrible. Tears welled up in Michelle’s eyes, and she couldn’t hide the secret thought she’d been having, not anymore. Not when Will was so close.

“Daddy!”

_____

Will had been on edge at first. He hadn’t been expecting company, and when it was Hannibal who arrived without warning, he couldn’t help but slide a knife into his pocket. He could sink into relaxation in the office, when it was he who had caught Hannibal off guard, but here, with an unexpected visit, Will could be nothing but suspicious.

And then Michelle had tumbled out of the car.

She’d gotten bigger since she’d snuck in to visit him, impossible as it seemed. Taller, hair longer and pulled into a ponytail. She looked at him with huge, startled eyes, and Will’s hands started to shake.

“Daddy!” Michelle shrieked, her voice cracking around the word. She seemed to realize what she said about the same time Will did, her next step stiff and jerky as she panicked halfway through it. Will didn’t give her a chance to hesitate; he leapt down the small flight of stairs and had her up and in his arms before he could take another breath.

She still smelled like strawberries, clean and fresh. She clung to him with all the strength her tiny body could manage, nearly choking him in her desire to be closer. She sobbed into his shoulders, big, gulping cries that shook her entire body no matter how tightly Will clung. Will was crying too; Hannibal was a watery blur by the car, staring at them.

“Shh,” Will whispered, pressing his lips to her hair. “Shh, it’s alright now, I’m here. I… Daddy’s here.”

“Daddy,” Michelle warbled again, staining his shirt collar with her sobs. “I waited and waited, and you were never coming home. Don’t leave again, don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Will promised, “I’m not going anywhere.” He glanced up to glare at Hannibal, a challenge in his eyes, and the look on Hannibal’s face stopped him in his tracks.

Hannibal looked happy. More than that, Hannibal looked _rapturous_. And… surprised. Michelle’s new name for Will had not been Hannibal’s idea, he had not even known about it until just now. And he was _thrilled_.

 _He really does love us_ , Will thought numbly. He’d suspected, when he cornered Hannibal in the kitchen, but now here it was, laid bare for Will to see. Hannibal Lecter was in love with him. He wanted Will and Michelle to be connected like this.

He had been genuinely sorry, in the kitchen. He _regretted_ the events of the last few months.

Will took a shaky step backwards, and then another, until he could let his legs give out from under him and collapse onto the steps, Michelle still held tightly against him. Hannibal held Will’s gaze.

Shaken, uneasy, Will reached for him. It was not a decision, not truly. Will could not know what he did about Hannibal and really _choose_ him, could he? But Will was aching, right now, and he was willing to do whatever it took to make the pain stop, even if it was only temporary. Hannibal could do that for him, even after everything that had happened.

Hannibal, if possible, looked genuinely shocked. He did not wait for Will to change his mind. He crossed the yard in three quick strides, joining them on the porch steps and tugging Will into his arms. Will let himself be pulled, sandwiching Michelle between them.

Hannibal’s eyes were damp. Will’s were spilling over. He was still angry. He was _so_ angry. There was no forgiving what Hannibal had done, no adjusting to the monster he had turned out to be.

But Will could call Jack tomorrow. He could make plans tomorrow. He could look for evidence tomorrow. Everything else could wait, until _tomorrow._ Tonight, Will wanted to pretend that it was months ago, and nothing had ever gone wrong.

They sat there, the three of them, and let the world turn around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Where has this chapter been?" you may ask, if you don't follow me on twitter. Well, first, I got married last month. Second. I have been very, very depressed. I'm working on it. 
> 
> I don't have TOO much to say here. Will finally found out about Hannibloom. He's furious with Hannibal, but he loves Hannibal, but he's SO ANGRY and round and round we go on the Will Graham emotion train.
> 
> There's a bunch of lines from the show left out of the 'I'd like to resume my therapy, daddy ;)' scene. You can safely assume they still happened, I just don't like ripping off the show word for word and didn't think much of their conversation would be changed.
> 
> The Daddy scene. It has been planned for MONTHS. Ishxallxgood was the only one who knew. I have been waiting.
> 
> i wish I had more to say but I am still very tired. I start new meds today. Wish me luck.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ish's attempt to be Strats](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328895) by [Ishxallxgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/pseuds/Ishxallxgood)




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